


Prisoners of Klondike

by lunar_system



Series: Fortuna [1]
Category: Disney Ducks (Comics), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adventure, Angry Sex, Angst, BAMF Aziraphale, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, He/Him Aziraphale, Humor, Kidnapping, Major Character Fake Death, Mutual Pining, Other, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Unhappy Ending, almost explicit handjobs oral sex and penetrative sex, aziraphale has the anxious factor, but not all sex is angry, buuut it’s likely crowley has a non-explicit penis and aziraphale a non-explicit vulva, crowley lives in the moment, cw for themes of abuse that won't be resolved until the last part of the series, fake/pretend kidnapping, gosh i have struggled long with how to phrase that, heaven is an abusive shit, i can't believe i haven't tagged this as mutual pining before, in human terms both are trans, inspired by a scrooge mcduck comic, it izzz written, no genitals are named, she/her crowley, that's it that's the series, the comfort and happy ending happen in the last part of the series i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunar_system/pseuds/lunar_system
Summary: When the snow thaws in the spring of 1897, old rules are broken and dreams come true...Aziraphale is assigned to work as a prospector during the Klondike Gold Rush, while Crowley spreads torment in the nearest city. In a flash of anger, Aziraphale kidnaps Crowley to his claim.Adventure and pining in the snowy scenery of the last great gold rush.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Fortuna [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041094
Comments: 30
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a retelling of the comic The Prisoner of White Agony Creek by Don Rosa, a Scrooge McDuck comic. Some scenes are inspired directly by it, while other parts go completely off the rails. No need to be familiar with the comic to follow! I've tagged the Disney Ducks fandom for clarity, but I consider this a Good Omens fanfic first and foremost. 
> 
> The gender presentations and ethnicities of Crowley and Aziraphale are not outright described in the text, so feel free to picture them as you wish, even if my fanart depicts them based on the TV show. (Crowley is told to have red hair, though.) 
> 
> Historical and geographical accuracy are used in moderation. Klondike Gold Rush was a real historical event and had serious consequences especially for First Nations people. I’m always up for feedback about how I’ve handled sensitive topics! That said, this fic is written for my own sanity during the covid-times and not betad, so please excuse any grammar errors and such. 
> 
> The third and the final part of the series is currently posting weekly!
> 
> CWs: Descriptions of anxiety attacks and other effects of abuse, discussion about colonialism from a privileged perspective, settler perspective in general, description of a lifeless body (nobody dies though!), quite many arguments. There will be M-rated sex, and while I think the story is better with it, there is a chance for skipping it. More detailed CW’s at the start of each chapter. Also, please let me know if I should add something to my cw’s!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old arguments are set aside and new ones found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Arguing, kidnapping, implied violence against humans

_1897, Klondike, Yukon_

Aziraphale didn’t have a home. The Earth was his assignment, and it would have been all kinds of silly to call your workplace a home. But walking down the unpaved streets of Dawson City, far away from his cozy bookshop in London, he was feeling homesick.

Just another human-like craving, he supposed. Add it to the pile! Aziraphale knew very well he was meant to be above such things. 

And yet his feet stopped him in front of a saloon. 

_Saloon Fortuna,_ read the sign above the opulent door. The wooden two-storey building seemed like any other bar in the growing town, if a bit fancier. There really should have been no reason for it to feel quite so inviting. No reason to think a visit there would ease his homesickness. But before Aziraphale knew it, he was giving in to the temptation. 

One drink couldn’t possibly hurt.

The spacious saloon floor was full of chatter. A small band of underfed musicians was playing on the stage, the pianist going wild with an improvised solo. Aziraphale found himself a vacant table in a corner and tried to catch the attention of a waiter. He failed. He failed to catch the attention of every single waiter in the busy room.

If he was not going to get any service in this God forsaken place –

“Aziraphale!” he heard a familiar voice dragging his name out with enjoyment. Soon he saw Crowley sauntering towards him through the crowd. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said. The rudeness of the waiters was immediately forgotten. “I had know idea you were around.” 

“The same old me, in the flesh." Crowley said and stopped by his table.

“Good Lord. I can see that." Aziraphale carefully eyed Crowley’s outfit. Crowley was wearing a dress that left his arms, shoulders, and even his _collarbones_ bare, for goodness’ sake. It was a startling sight after centuries and centuries of fashion covering up men from neck to wrists to toes. But alongside abandoning masculine clothing, Crowley had slipped out of the concept of manhood as well. To Aziraphale Crowley was always Crowley, but he suspected humans would now describe Crowley as a quite handsome woman. It would be in that carefree and unquestioning manner that was very familiar to Aziraphale too. 

“What are your pronouns these days, my dear bo–, I mean, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley made a noncommittal sound and sat down at the table beside Aziraphale. “Well, the humans call me _she,_ so you might as well use it too.” Crowley motioned for a waiter, who emerged to her side right away. She ordered them a bottle of wine to share. 

“In that case, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle." Aziraphale bowed his head. Crowley eyed him suspiciously behind her tinted glasses and he felt a pang of guilt. Of course. The last time they had met, they hadn’t parted on very good terms. In fact, Aziraphale had stormed away. But seeing Crowley after three decades of silence, he would be happy to let their disagreement about Holy Water slide. If Crowley only allowed it, of course.

“Aren’t you being cheerful," Crowley noted. “What’s the occasion? Is your assignment something special?”

“Special? Yes, it is especially miserable," Aziraphale said with a huff. “I’ve been appointed to this patch of land and, and – actually, you know what! I don’t even wish to disclose what it is about it. It’s really embarrassing.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Can you believe I’ve been strongly advised against using miracles?”

“I can. Your lot has never had much common sense.”

“They have no idea how harsh the winter is here, you have my word for it," Aziraphale said and realised he had a chance to rant to someone who listened. Crowley was probably the one and only being in the whole of creation who might actually understand. “So like I said, I’ve been given this claim, up the Klondike river. And as a part of the assignment, I’m required to dig gold. The _human_ way. As if I couldn’t just miracle it!”

The waiter brought the wine to their table. Crowley poured it while Aziraphale chattered on. “Although, the claim is a _very_ picturesque place. White Agony Creek, that’s the name of the place. Ghastly name, I know, but truly marvelous scenery. Somebody should write a book about it! Also, I’ve made friends with all sorts of animals.” 

Aziraphale paused to taste the wine. It pleasantly surprised him. Finding such nice wine in distant and secluded Dawson was quite a miracle. 

“I thought you would rather not let nature get too close to you," Crowley said and took a sip of the wine too. 

Aziraphale sighed. “You’re right. I really would rather not. But I try to make the best out of it, you know? It’s about the little things. Did you know coffee tastes _extraordinarily_ good when you brew it on open fire, from freshly ground beans? And when you drink it under the starlit sky? Oh, and the aurora borealis! Absolutely marvelous!”

“Northern lights, yes," Crowley said, dragging out the syllables. “I like them. Reminds me of nebulae.”

“Nebulae! That’s right, now that you mention it. Although, I’m sure you got to see much more of those than I ever did.”

“I could take you on a tour, if you’d like." Crowley rolled the wine in her glass and looked over the crowd in the saloon. A strand of long hair had escaped from her updo and now clung to the edge of her gold-rimmed glasses.

Aziraphale’s glass froze mid-way to his lips. It seemed like Crowley might have let their earlier disagreement slide, after all. “You would? But wouldn’t that be quite… frivolous use of your powers?”

“Nah, it’s whatever.”

“I appreciate your offer, but… I’m not sure it would be very appropriate," Aziraphale said and shrank down. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Whatever you say, angel," Crowley said. “The offer stands.”

Hearing the nickname made Aziraphale smile. He always noticed whenever Crowley used it, not that Crowley needed to know as much. “I… well. Thank you. It is very kind of you.”

“Ugh. Don’t _ever_ say that again," Crowley said and turned to look at Aziraphale. The look she threw at his direction was annoyed but not cold. Carefree fingers slipped the loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, enough about me!” Aziraphale said and tried to brighten up. Perhaps it was best to avoid too personal topics, for now. “What are you doing here? Living lavishly on the miners’ money, I suppose?”

“I’m spreading bad morale among the prospectors, yes. Though, they are doing very well without my influence too, if you ask me.”

“Yes, I can see that." Aziraphale could sense the corruption of Dawson City. It reeked from every street corner and made the hairs on his neck stand up. “What is it exactly that you do?”

“I’m a showgirl," Crowley said proudly and spread her hand to show off her dress, as if it should have been obvious. The dress was a marvel, it had to be said. The dark fabric twinkled with colours of northern lights whenever Crowley moved. Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether it was an achievement of human textiles or if Crowley had enhanced the fabric with an occult touch. In any case, he felt magnificently underdressed in comparison. His own clothing was practical above all else: thick and rugged fabrics that were meant to keep the cold away at any cost. His hand traveled to the hem of his knitted jumper and fidgeted with a string of yarn that had begun to unravel. The tear mended itself without Aziraphale noticing. 

“I see. What kind of shows? Is it magic?” he asked. He didn’t know much about show business, but in this one area he could hold his ground if needed. It had been only a couple of decades since he had participated in Maskelyne’s magic class. And what about that young magician he had seen just last year? Phenomenal acts, and not nearly the venues and attention he deserved. Aziraphale had left young mister Houdini with a blessing.

“Er, not exactly.” 

“No? What is it then?” 

“Why don’t you stay here in the saloon until the night and see for yourself?”

Aziraphale deflated. “I’m not sure I can do that, my dear. Heaven’s been extremely strict with this assignment. Ridiculously so.”

“It’s really that bad? In that case, tonight’s on me." Crowley motioned for the waiter again. 

“Thank you, Crowley. I appreciate it. But… best not," Aziraple said with a sad smile. 

“Right.” Crowley dismissed the waiter who had already emerged at their table. “Well, all I’m saying is that any self-respecting prospector frequents at Saloon Fortuna. You’ll always find me here," she said and paused. When she continued, Aziraphale recognized the conspiratorial tone right away. “I think it would help you blend in with the humans. Might even be more suspicious if you _didn’t_ visit.”

“Do you really think so?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded innocently. “I’ll… give it a thought. Thank you for the tip.”

“Don’t thank me," Crowley said and gulped down the rest of her wine. “Well, some of us have work to do. Good to see you around, angel. Come visit me anytime you want.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind," Aziraphale said, and before he had time to say goodbye, Crowley had disappeared into the crowd. Aziraphale finished his wine soon after, and when he tried to pay for it, he was told it was on the house. 

* * *

Aziraphale trekked up the frozen Klondike River. It was over a day’s hike to his claim, and he was happy for the beautiful weather that accompanied him. The brief appearance of the sun painted the scenery with shades of gold, while the shadows on the snow were tinted by the piercing blue of the clear sky. An optimist might have said it was the first day of spring. Aziraphale knew it was still winter. Pulling a small supply sled through deep snow made his progress slow, but he was in no hurry. With this much snow, there were no time-sensitive tasks waiting for him at the claim. 

Certain type of humans had very persistently conquered every last nook and cranny of the Earth during the last few centuries, often with bloody results. Klondike was said to be the final frontier of untamed wilderness. The last truly wild place, just waiting to be conquered like the rest of the planet. Venturing there was an adventure with a promise of unimaginable wealth. The challenge was eagerly accepted by many, fueled by an economic crash earlier that decade. 

Aziraphale liked to think of himself as the protector of all humanity. Unfortunately Heaven tended to side with the conquering ones. And while working as a prospector meant facing many challenges, there was one in particular that he had not predicted: the question of how to keep opinions about Heaven’s policies in check. Conquering the untamed wilderness? What about the people who have lived here for thousands of years before you prospectors arrived?

It turned out that Heaven had forgotten to mention the First Nations people in Aziraphale’s briefing. There had been absolutely no mention about the Hän. 

Aziraphale was sure it had been by accident. 

Well. Fairly sure. 

As Aziraphale gained distance from the city he saw fewer and fewer other prospectors. He noted with delight the appearance of the first and bravest migratory birds, lured to the North by the slowly increasing daylight.

Heaven had hid his claim in a valley behind a glacier that very few humans dared to face. Rumour had it that an ice monster guarded the only passage through it. In Aziraphale’s opinion, both the glacier and its rumoured guardian were exactly the type of unnecessarily grand spectacle Heaven was too fond of (not that he would even say such an opinion out loud). Approaching the glacier now, however, he was actually relieved. At least the hunk of ice would keep the unpleasant atmosphere of Dawson City far away from him. Maybe not all grand spectacles were so bad.

A creek had carved a narrow cave through the glacier, and it was through that cave that Aziraphale arrived at White Agony Creek. The sight was familiar and unchanged from when he had first arrived nearly a year ago: a creek cutting through forest and clearings, majestic mountains surrounding the valley from all sides. The main difference was the cabin that now stood on a low hill in the center of the valley. He had built it himself. The miraculous construction of it was probably part of the reason why he wasn’t allowed many miracles now. 

Walking into the valley, noting the signs of the upcoming spring, Aziraphale found himself quite looking forward to his first full spring as a prospector. Over the painfully cold and endlessly dark winter he had been preparing new equipment. Now he would get to put them in use. Rockers and sluice boxes would make his work more efficient, and would mostly relieve him from the laborious panning of gold. 

Wild animals skittered away from his path. Aziraphale extended out some angelic empathy to greet them. He stayed out of their way, and they stayed out of his way, was the agreement. Reaching the cabin, he placed a hand on its crude door frame for a moment before stepping inside. The small cabin had no comforts of city life, but it was what he had for now. 

He unpacked the contents of his sled and set his thoughts to the tasks ahead. Even though he was proud of his handiwork in a strangely humane way, the work was hard and the pleasures were few. It made it easier to know that spring was just around the corner. 

It also made it easier to know that Crowley was nearby. Just knowing that there was someone in Dawson he could talk to made it all a little easier. Up until now the only company Aziraphale had had were some old letters, stored in a small strongbox together with the deed to his claim. But all those letters were over three decades old now and far too well memorised. 

So if Aziraphale got into a new habit of complaining out loud as if to Crowley, well, it was just to make the hard work a bit more bearable. Preparing a new placer deposit mine really was _awful._ Permafrost ground was impenetrable. The steam machinery he had to use to thaw it always acted up. Muttering curses and imagining Crowley’s dry quips in return was a small joy, but a joy nevertheless.

It was only a silly little game to keep his mind occupied, though. It wasn’t as if Crowley would ever abandon the comforts of city life and visit Aziraphale in the wilderness just to keep him company. But the other way around... Stopping by Saloon Fortuna during his visits to Dawson City couldn’t be _that_ bad. Like Crowley had said, it might be even more suspicious if he _didn’t_ visit. And that strangely inviting atmosphere that the place had had... Somehow his earlier visit at Saloon Fortuna really had soothed his homesickness.

But the hike to Dawson City was long. There was no way he could justify doing it again quite so soon. He had everything he needed, and what he needed to do was to keep on digging. 

During the long hours of thawing the soil, carrying gravel and digging deeper, Aziraphale entertained himself with stories. Saloon Fortuna’s name had brought to his mind all those old tales of other gods. They had made for such good theater, back in the day. Fortuna had been one of those gods, and that saying about her, _Fortuna favet fortibus,_ had carried through all these centuries. 

Aziraphale had never liked the saying. Fortune favours the brave? It was a fitting tagline for a saloon, sure, to encourage gambling and other bad habits. But as a guideline for living? No. Bravery, in Aziraphale’s opinion, was mostly foolishness and bragging. It was easier to do things the cowardly way, no matter how little recognition cowardice got in the tales. It had been Aziraphale’s strategy for a long time now. He kept a low profile and tried not to agitate his supervisors. 

_A sword? A sharp, cutty thing?_

Aziraphale swung his pickaxe with unnecessary force to drown the ancient memory and nearly collapsed the mine. Good Heavens, the things one ends up saying when forced to lie. No, it was best to keep quiet, so that nobody would even start asking questions. If no-one asked, there was no need to lie and no need to get into trouble. 

Sometimes, when Aziraphale’s fingers hurt from the cold and he had to once again talk himself out from miracling himself warm, he wondered if it would have been worth it to argue with his head office this time. Should he have made his opinion about this assignment known? 

He always arrived at the same conclusion. Confrontations never led to anything good. 

So Aziraphale kept on digging through the frozen ground, and dreamed of culinary pleasures of distant London when he prepared yet another serving of beans. 

* * *

Beans, it turned out, were not very good at keeping a culinarily motivated being such as Aziraphale focused. He found his mind drifting towards Dawson City more often these days than before. It must be the beans, Aziraphale told himself. One gets very quickly tired of beans. 

He had all the necessary supplies that he needed, though, so figuring out an excuse to make the long and demanding trip to Dawson City took some time. If Heaven were to ask, he couldn’t possibly say he had simply popped into a specific saloon to… satisfy his culinary cravings. Aziraphale had long since given up fighting his weakness for the earthly pleasures, but he knew Heaven neither understood nor approved of them. 

In the end it was gluttony that ended up helping him. Coffee ran out sooner than he had expected. And coffee, this he reasoned to himself, was one of the few joys he had in this frozen patch of land, and therefore essential. He would have to make a trip to Dawson and buy more coffee beans. Lots and lots of coffee beans. 

The thought about the trip made him tremble in anticipation, as if he had drank too much of the coffee he did not have. 

* * *

Crowley sat behind her desk in her suite, high heeled shoes propped up on the desk corner. She rolled a large gold nugget in her hands. It was a marvel. It had also been way too easy to get. 

Hell was _so_ unimaginative with her assignments these days. Stealing gold from the prospectors? It was pointless. Gold had already found its way out of Klondike and into the economy in large quantities, and with it the depression of the 1890s had begun to ease. Some stolen nuggets here and there would make no difference whatsoever. But it wasn’t just the pointlessness of the assignment either. No. The assignment was also embarrassingly and outrageously _boring._ Hypnotising humans and taking their gold was shamefully easy, and really, Crowley knew she could do better than that. She tossed the gold nugget on the desk. The soft metal was heavy enough to leave a dent on the hardwood surface. 

Crowley lolled her head back and carded her fingers through her long hair, splaying it open. Meaningless, that’s what it was. It was all meaningless. Humans were miserable and corrupted already on their own accord, and they constantly found new and innovative ways to torment each other. What even was Crowley’s role in it these days? Only to minutely accelerate the process, it seemed. It felt meaningless. Meaningless, like the yellow metal the humans were all drooling after.

The saloon was the only part of Crowley’s work these days that ignited a spark of excitement in her. Hell didn't really understand her goals with it, though. If she was ordered to give up Fortuna... Crowley shook her head at the thought. If Fortuna was taken from her, Dawson would compete with the 14th century in its misery.

Except that wasn't quite the case anymore, was it? Because one day, earlier that spring, a certain celestial being had waltzed straight into the saloon. Aziraphale was somewhere in the wilderness now, doing his own share of meaningless work. So meaningless this time, apparently, that Aziraphale hadn’t even wanted to share the specifics of the assignment with Crowley. Crowley teetered on the edge of whether or not to tease Aziraphale about it. But Heaven’s official policies were a sore spot for Aziraphale sometimes, and it wasn’t always worth the trouble to go poking into it.

Then again, sometimes it was.

Regardless of Aziraphale’s reasons for being around, having him not only in the same continent but also in the same region felt like a personal insult to Crowley. So close, and yet so far. The miles and miles of snow stretching between them might as well have been the ocean. If Aziraphale only was in Dawson and not in the woods! Then he could come to Fortuna every evening if he fancied. Every visit would make Crowley's world shine a little brighter. The sense of meaninglessness would dissipate, even if just for a moment. In Aziraphale's company everything was more bearable. Enjoyable, even. 

Yes, Aziraphale was closer now. But not close enough. 

For a moment Crowley entertained the thought of just appearing to Aziraphale's claim in the woods, wherever it was. A bottle of wine in hand, saying, _hi angel, just happened to pass by, and what a quaint place you have here, stole it from the locals yourself?_ Aziraphale would probably give her a talking-to for being so careless about seeing each other. Always so anxious about rules, the angel.

Crowley sighed and got up from behind the desk. She went to a tall mirror on the other side of her suite and started gathering her hair in an updo. Pins slotted neatly into place as her hands arranged the hair up with practiced motions.

A new dancer was about to arrive tonight, and Crowley would show her how things were done here at Saloon Fortuna. Business was already booming but still more and more prospectors were arriving in Dawson. As the city grew, there were more and more women looking for their place in it. And a deal with the devil – well, a demon – was always a viable option for any young women searching for opportunities. 

Once Crowley was more or less satisfied with her hair (some stubbornly flat quality seemed to remain in it no matter what she tried), she did her makeup the human way too. Marking herself with earthly matter, it was a rude gesture shown to the Hell’s direction. Aziraphale had his food, Crowley had her paint. It was one of the many things that made Crowley feel like she had much more in common with the angel than with her fellow demons.

Crowley was painting her lips when she realised the world had gotten subtly sharper. More... vivid. She smiled all of a sudden, a wide smile full of just a little too sharp teeth. The golden eyes of a snake looked back at her from the mirror, narrowing with her smile. 

“Dorothy!” Crowley shouted and schooled her face back in its usual order. Her tinted glasses, golden frames with a snake theme adorning the handles, appeared hanging from the mirror as if they had always been there. Crowley put them on as the door of her suite opened. One of her dancers stood by the door, a young woman with unruly bangs and a lost look in her eyes. “You’ll have to show the new dancer around tonight. I have a visitor coming.”

“Will do, Miss," Dorothy said and curtsied.

“There’s no need to be so formal, lassie.”

“Of course, Miss." Dorothy curtsied again before she closed the door behind her.

Crowley shook her head. Dorothy lacked an edge and let people trample over her. But by time Crowley would tempt that out of her. With the right kind of encouragement, Dorothy would soon become a whole new person. 

Crowley quickly finished painting her lips and left the suite. Down the corridor past the dancers’ quarters, down the stairs to the saloon. There she headed to the bar and greeted the bartender, Tim, who was one of the few men who worked for her at Saloon Fortuna. He fit right in. Behind the bar, Crowley browsed the wines she had stashed away from the regular clientele. What would Aziraphale be in the mood for tonight?

It had taken Crowley a long while to realise that the sensation of the world sharpening was related to Aziraphale’s proximity. She didn’t exactly know what caused it, but if she had to guess, she would have said it was her demonic essence reacting to Aziraphale’s holy aura. It had been a slightly uncomfortable sensation at first, but these days she was used to it. What had probably been intended to be a warning sign had since turned into a comfort. It told her a friend was around.

Aziraphale walked shyly through the saloon doors right when Crowley emerged from behind the bar with a carefully selected bottle of wine. She saw Aziraphale search for her in the crowd, and when noticing Crowley by the bar, his face lit up with a dazzling smile. It shone like a beacon in the sea of scruffy prospectors. Crowley couldn’t help but to smile back. 

“I just heard someone say you _own_ this place!” Aziraphale exclaimed when he got through the crowd. “Is it true?”

“Yep." Crowley snapped the wine bottle open. Tim showed up from the bar as if summoned and offered them a pair of empty wine glasses.

“And not only that!" Aziraphale continued and lit up even brighter. “They said it’s Cat’s-eye Crowley who owns the saloon. _Cat’s-eye Crowley!”_

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh at Aziraphale’s enthusiastic expression. “Everyone has a nickname around here.”

“I don’t.”

“Just you wait, angel.”

A laughing couple bumped into Aziraphale on their way to the dance floor and nearly knocked the empty wine glass from his hand. He politely gave way and continued to follow the pair with his gaze. “Quite a popular place, is it? An entrepreneur! I didn’t know you had it in you." 

“I’m full of surprises," Crowley said. The truth was, Crowley hadn’t known she had it in her either. One thing had just led to another and now she owned the saloon. It might have been that the previous owners had died painfully in an unexpected fire. It also might have happened soon after Crowley had joined the dancers and found out how they were treated. It had all been a coincidence, of course.

Crowley looked around the busy place with the bottle in one hand and an empty glass in another. She was actually proud of Fortuna. But with the popularity of the place, there was no peace for the two of them here. 

“Let’s go somewhere we don’t have to pretend to be something we’re not," Crowley said and led Aziraphale through the noisy crowd. They went through the backstage door, up the stairs and down the corridor towards her suite. The dancers might get funny ideas about the two of them, but Crowley supposed she could rob Aziraphale a little bit to correct their assumptions, if needed. Come to think of it, it might be fun as well.

“So the humans know about… you know –,” Aziraphale pointed at Crowley’s tinted glasses in the quiet corridor, “– your eyes then?”

“Eh.”

“What does that mean?”

Crowley shrugged with one shoulder and opened the suite door, revealing a large room decorated with dark tones and rich fabrics. She showed Aziraphale an armchair where he could sit, set the wine on a table in front of him and went to dig up a box of fine chocolates from her desk drawer. They were the only type she too enjoyed, the darkest of dark chocolate, more bitter than sweet. She put the chocolates on the table and sprawled on a french settee opposite Aziraphale's chair. It mirrored their usual order back at Aziraphale’s bookshop in London, she realised. Not that they had spent any time there during the past thirty years. But Aziraphale seemed to have let their argument slide, and Crowley was not about to bring it up now. Even though she hadn’t, strictly speaking, forgiven it either. 

_Fraternizing._ It still hurt. 

But it just wasn’t worth the risk of having Aziraphale storm off again. If Crowley had to choose between putting up with Aziraphale’s issues or not having Aziraphale in her life at all, she knew what she would choose. 

Aziraphale poured generous portions of wine for both of them. “For your new enterprise, then!” he said cheerfully and raised his glass.

“Cheers," Crowley said and raised her own. Aziraphale took a sip and hummed appreciatively. Crowley nudged the box of chocolates towards him and watched intently as he carefully picked one. And if any of the dancers happened to pass by the suite and hear the sound Aziraphale made when he tasted the chocolate, no amount of corrective robbing would have fixed the wrong idea they got. 

Crowley picked a chocolate for herself too. It was nice to share the same sensations with Aziraphale. Aziraphale seemed to experience flavours so vividly, so fully, in a way that Crowley had never quite grasped. But with the way the flavours of the wine and chocolate blended together and her senses subtly sharpened by the angelic presence of Aziraphale, she could experience at least an echo of it. 

Yet most vividly she experienced it by simply observing Aziraphale do the tasting instead. 

“Last I checked up on you, you were taking a long nap. What woke you up?” Aziraphale asked once he was done savouring the chocolate and was reaching for another piece. 

Crowley did a complicated shrug-like motion that could have been a yes, a no, neither, both, or something completely different. She was not about to tell Aziraphale about the nightmares. Instead she made a mental note about the fact that Aziraphale had apparently checked up on her. “Eh, you know. Turn of the century approaching. Too much is going on.”

“How so?” Aziraphale said. Crowley raised an eyebrow. Surely not even Aziraphale could have missed the rapid way London had been changing. Industrial revolution hadn’t exactly been a subtle phenomenon. 

“Have you seen the new automobiles?” Crowley said. “Engines that run with petrol! And just a couple of years ago I saw motion pictures, like photographs but moving. Humans have really started to get the hang of things, if you ask me.”

“I don’t trust those engines.” Aziraphale looked displeased with just the thought. “I’m forced to dabble with steam back at the claim, and already that makes me nervous.” 

Crowley replied with a sound that neither agreed or disagreed. She could not _wait_ for the engines to take over the world.

“Does owning a saloon mean you are planning to settle in Dawson for a longer time?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nah. It’s just something to entertain myself while I’m here. Hell’s assignments are a real bore at the moment, to be honest.”

“Do you want me to take something over?”

“Would you?” Crowley asked, surprised by the offer. She had thought Aziraphale had withdrawn from the Arrangement, after the Holy Water incident. 

“Well, we’re both here, and it would be according to the…” Aziraphale said but didn’t finish the sentence.

“The Arrangement, yes," Crowley supplied. After all these years, Aziraphale still got nervous any time they talked about it out loud. She would have to find a way for him to relax, or he would snap sooner than later. “Well. You are a prospector, right? A real sourdough?”

“For now, yes.”

“Do you have high morale? Enjoying every moment of digging?”

“Absolutely not.”

“See? You're already contributing to my goals," Crowley said and raised her glass of wine victoriously.

Aziraphale laughed. “Very well. Every moment I am miserable shall be devoted to you.”

“And that right there will be my legacy," Crowley said and pointed a finger at Aziraphale. “Miserable miners who don’t know what hit them.” 

“I must say I do feel deeply sorry for the actual prospectors," Aziraphale said, looking regretful. “They labour so vigorously for the gold, only to lose it to you by gambling.” 

“Yeah, gambling," Crowley repeated and felt incredibly stupid. Gambling was a _great_ idea, and such an obvious one. It certainly would be more sporting than straightforward robbing, which was what she had practiced so far. _And_ it would tap into human greed too. 

Oh, well. As long as Aziraphale didn’t find out about how embarrassing deeds Crowley had resorted to doing lately, all was good. She did have some sort of a reputation to maintain, even if only for Aziraphale. Or, on a second thought: maybe _especially_ for Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale continued. “Although, I suppose it is their own fault in the end. Giving in to the temptation of gambling. It would be a whole different story if someone outright _stole_ it.”

“Anyway," Crowley said, “Read anything good lately, angel?”

“Oh, I’m so happy you asked!” Aziraphale said. He lit up, all worries forgotten. “I’ve been cheering on this one writer who finally, just some years ago, got his novel published! I’m sure you would have appreciated the _scandal_ it caused in the end. It tells the story of this _dashing_ young man called Dorian…” 

Crowley sipped her wine and let Aziraphale tell her the fantastic story of the temptations of youth and beauty. The story wasn’t half bad itself, but what made it special to Crowley was the way it made Aziraphale’s eyes shine with excitement, and how lively his hands became as he brought the story to life. On occasion, his usually so chipper and bright voice dipped into a near seductive rumble as he recited from memory: “The only way to get rid of the temptation is to yield to it. Resist it and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.” 

Crowley could have purred, resonating with the sound of it. Words didn't matter, just the silky quality of the voice that had become so familiar to her over the centuries. Although Crowley suspected that this time Aziraphale might have chosen the part to recite with Crowley especially in mind. Weren’t all the tempters in Western art modeled after her? Or then again, maybe the words simply resonated with Aziraphale. Between the two of them, Aziraphale had always been the one to more quickly yield to the temptation of a good meal.

Aziraphale was an excellent storyteller, even if sometimes he got lost in unrelated tangents. He had been around since before the written word was invented, after all. To access stories back then you had to learn to tell stories yourself as well. Trading stories back and forth, the afternoon turned into evening, wine bottles emerged and drained, and Crowley was happy to have Aziraphale back in her life. 

* * *

Aziraphale headed away from Dawson with a lightened heart and sobered mind. What a pleasant evening they had had! Crowley seemed to enjoy her life at the saloon. Aziraphale was happy for her. 

He was pulling his small sled loaded with supplies, including a sack of coffee beans. He had bought everything before heading to Saloon Fortuna, because of a hunch that had turned out to be correct: time had flown by once the two of them had gotten to talking. Now the hour was late. The sun had gone down long ago, and no humans were on the move. The moonless night would have been pitch black, had it not been for the northern lights flickering into view from between the treetops. 

Aziraphale turned to look at the city lights one last time before they disappeared beyond the hill and behind the trees. He didn’t try to stop a heavy sigh. One evening in Dawson was all he dared to gift himself. One evening, and it had passed so quickly. Who knew when he could afford to do the journey again… 

But it couldn’t be helped. It was no use dreaming of things he could never have. Best he could do was to distract himself, and Aziraphale knew exactly what would do the trick: reciting the entirety of Hamlet to himself. He turned away from the city, and soon he was successfully lost in thought, settling into the pace of the hike.

_What art thou that usurp'st this time of night..._

A quiet, distressed moan caught his ear. He stopped in his tracks. Someone else was in the woods, and they were not well. 

He left the sled on the path and made his way through the untouched snow. Soon he found footsteps and a trail as if something heavy had been dragged. At the end of the trail he found a figure lying on a ditch: a young man, slowly regaining his consciousness. Aziraphale hurried to prop him up from the snow. 

“There we go, my dear boy. You're going to be just fine," he said, wondering who the boy had angered to earn being thrown in the woods in the middle of the night. Maybe he had gambled and started winning too much. He was barely an adult: there was a youthful look to his fair features, a look that Aziraphale was sure would soon be tainted by the realities of prospecting. Maybe the damage had already been done. 

“Where is… where is…” the boy slurred as he woke up from his slumber.

“There there. You are in one piece. Nothing is lost,” Aziraphale said and rubbed the boy’s arms to start warming him up.

“No, it’s.. my gold… The goose egg nugget...” the boy blinked and tried to focus his gaze.

“Goose egg nugget?” Aziraphale said, and the fellow prospector in him was impressed. “That’s quite a find. Aren’t you the lucky one!” 

“That’s what they named it at the saloon…” the boy mumbled and then suddenly straightened up, fully alert. “She stole it!” he shouted and tried to get up on his feet. Instead he fell face first back into the snow. Aziraphale propped him up again and patted him sympathetically on the back. Poor bugger. Someone had conned him in Dawson and taken his gold. Well, that’s what you get when you go to the saloons to gamble.

“I’m sorry to hear it, my boy. You’ll find more gold. I’m sure of it," Aziraphale said and sent a discreet blessing to the boy’s way. Even a gambler deserved another chance.

“No, this one was special. I’ll never find one like it," the boy said and started to fumble forward. “I’ll have to get to Saloon Fortuna immediately or –”

“Saloon Fortuna?” A sudden sense of dread crept up Aziraphale’s spine. 

The boy managed to start walking. “Yes, Fortuna, that’s where I was, I must have been drugged –"

“Are you sure it was Fortuna? Who might it have been who –" Aziraphale asked carefully as he trailed after the swaying boy. He reached to steady the boy from his shoulder, but the boy swatted his hand away and turned to face him. 

“I was showing off for the other miners, okay?” the boy snapped. “Nothing wrong with wanting to show your work, is there? And Miss Crowley, you know, _Cat’s-eye herself_ came down to the bar to look at it. She… she invited me to her suite. And surely you know Cat’s-eye, if you are so concerned about Saloon Fortuna! So of course I didn’t refuse! She offered me a drink and – the next thing I remember is waking up here with you," the boy finished his rant and turned his back to Aziraphale. “So whether you like it or not, I’m going to Saloon Fortuna and taking my gold back.”

Aziraphale let the boy go. Crowley was targeting lone prospectors, young boys with their whole life ahead? And didn’t even give them a chance of saying no to her temptation, but just _stole_ their gold? 

An emotion was rising inside him. It took him a moment to recognise it. It was one of his more rarely used ones, and required a bit of dusting. He thought it was worry at first, but that wasn’t quite it.

It was anger. As a fellow prospector he knew how valuable each and every single gold nugget was for these poor humans. Aziraphale knew how much pain and hard work each of them required. Crowley obviously did not. Or was it rather that she did not care? 

Aziraphale shut his eyes for a moment and tried to focus. Crowley was a _demon._ Aziraphale knew it very well. There was no reason to get upset over behaviour that came naturally to her.

But to not even give them a chance to _prove_ themselves _..._

The young prospector had gotten a fair head start when Aziraphale stopped him again. The boy began to shove Aziraphale away, but Aziraphale held him tightly by his shoulders. 

“I need you to be very clear and honest with me now," Aziraphale said. “You did not lose your gold in a gamble?”

Something about Aziraphale’s demeanor had gotten the boy’s attention. He shook his head.

“You had earned this gold honestly?” Aziraphale continued.

“I dug it up from my claim.”

“And you are sure Crowl–, um, Miss Crowley drugged you and stole your gold?”

The boy nodded slowly. Aziraphale examined his face and quickly prodded at his soul as well. The boy was telling the truth, or at least he thought he was. 

Aziraphale made a decision. 

“What’s your name, my dear boy?” he asked. It had been a long time since he had had a chance to actually help a human being instead of hiding from the world at his claim. Too long. 

“I’m Eben.”

“Well then, Eben. Let’s get you back to Saloon Fortuna," he said, patted Eben friskly on the shoulder and turned to walk towards the city.

“I can handle –" Eben tried to intervene but Aziraphale was having none of it.

“No. She’s not going to listen to you.”

They were not too far from the city, and the determination in Aziraphale’s steps made the journey ever shorter. Eben trailed somewhere behind him, but Aziraphale didn’t slow down to wait for the boy. 

“Sir, I can sort out my own problems –" Eben shouted from behind him. Aziraphale didn’t turn to look.

“I’m sure you do, my dear boy, but this isn’t only about you," he shouted back. Snow turned into the unpaved roads of Dawson City underneath his feet. 

“Has she stolen from you too?” Eben asked.

Aziraphale laughed. “Probably. It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that I am going to talk to Crowley, and you are going to get your gold back.” 

After that the boy didn’t ask any more questions, and instead quietly followed Aziraphale through the streets. Scattered thoughts filled Aziraphale’s mind, combined with emotions he did not quite understand. Opposite sides, yes, he knew that much. Hadn’t they always negated each other's effect in the world? This was nothing personal, he ought to have known it. And yet…

Cold fingers, frozen by the ice cold water of the creek. Permafrost so hard it was impossible to dig through it without thawing it with steam. Endless, dark winter nights and wind so cold that it bore through even the thickest of the winter clothes. 

Aziraphale felt a mood like a storm cloud gather in his wake. Cold. The unbearable cold. That was the worst of it. Even worse than the food. Saloon Fortuna loomed high and mighty further down the street, its lavishly decorated front now a personal offence. And in the suite, Crowley, the personification of the meaningless suffering of the prospectors. Aziraphale took the last steps to the front door running and barged through it. He breezed past the celebrating crowd on the saloon floor, through the backstage door and up the stairs. Only when he finally reached the door at the end of the corridor, he stopped.

 _Miss Crowley,_ said a fancy sign on it. _The True Star of The North._ Each carefully carved letter was plated with gold. 

Aziraphale stared at the sign for a moment. It did nothing good for his mood. 

Eben had managed to keep up with him and reached him at the door. Aziraphale glanced at him briefly. The boy was out of breath but steady on his feet.

“Stay here. I’ll handle this,” he said with finality in his voice, and without waiting for a reply pushed through the door and into Crowley’s suite. The door slammed shut behind him. Aziraphale stood in the middle of the luxurious room, opening his mouth to give Crowley a good talking to, but Crowley beat him to the first word.

“Angel! Back so soon! What’s going on?” Crowley exclaimed from behind her overly grand desk. She was lounging on the chair in a way that it was most definitely not the way the chair was supposed to be sat on. The sight of it irked Aziraphale, which in turn made a little warning bell ring in his head. They had had such a nice evening, during which Crowley had lounged just like that on the settee. Back then it had been perfectly fine, and yet now it annoyed Aziraphale. The little warning bell kept on ringing, hinting that he might not be in the right mindset for a conversation. He ignored it. 

“I’m disappointed, that’s what’s going on," Aziraphale replied. That’s right. He was not angry. He just needed an explanation from Crowley. That’s all.

“Outch. What did I do? Must have been good," Crowley said, not sounding regretful at all. Another spike of annoyance flashed through Aziraphale.

“You know what you did," he said, aiming for a matter-of-factly tone and missing. “I just found a young prospector lying unconscious in the snow! Eben, said his name was.” 

“Eben?” Crowley sounded oblivious. How could Crowley not even know the name of the poor soul? Aziraphale took a breath to start arguing, but it dawned on Crowley before he had a chance to begin. “Oh! Right, him. Recovered already? Strong one. The laddie had just left – well – had been taken away when you came. Not nearly as good company as you were.”

“Really? That’s nice of you to – no, that’s not the point. Crowley! What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean? I’m just doing my job." Crowley still seemed oblivious, if the tiniest bit shifty.

“Yes, I know, but – do you _have_ to take it out on a single prospector? Have you any idea –” Aziraphale began to explain but Crowley cut it short.

“Angel! A single human here and there? Since when have you cared?” she said and waved an arm about in a disregarding manner.

“I _do_ care! Very much.” He was an angel. It was in his very existence.

Crowley crossed her arms, still lounging behind the desk, and gave him a blank look. “What about Paris, then? Hmm?”

“What do you mean?” The conversation was already going off the rails. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to begin explaining what a pain in the arse human prospecting was yet. 

“You don’t _remember?”_ Crowley asked, scandalised. Then she shook her head. “Oh, angel. So selective with your memory. The executioner?”

It took a brief moment for Aziraphale to connect the dots. He had been concerned about completely different things that day. Crepes, for one. Also the latest fashion statements of Crowley’s choice. But those things were beside the point. Aziraphale grumbled. Typical, typical, _typical_ Crowley to drag in their past in an argument that had nothing to do with it. “He was an _executioner._ There was a moral point to that.”

“A moral point, sure,” Crowley said with an all too delighted grin. 

“Yes, a moral point. Which you do not have here! These prospectors are poor people, driven up here because of what _your side_ did to the economy earlier this decade! And surely you…” Aziraphale hesitated and searched for the right words. He knew he had a point, but Crowley was derailing the conversations and it was hard to remember what it had been.

Crowley didn’t wait for him to find the right words. “Surely I what? Made sure I didn’t hurt his feelings? What part of my job description are you confused about?” There was a new kind of an edge to her voice now and the humor in it was receding. Another warning bell rang in Aziraphale’s head, and he ignored it again. He was _not_ confused. 

“Don’t try your luck now, dearie. You’ve got me quite agitated," he said. If Crowley only stopped and _listened –_

“Why is that, angel? Have you grown to like your little role as _Mr. Fell,_ the hardworking prospector?” Crowley asked. 

“No!” Aziraphale said instinctively, but recoiled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, then you should know. It’s practically in the prospector’s job description to be robbed in the saloons. Humans do it to each other all the time," Crowley said. She settled more comfortably to her chair, as if the matter was done and dealt with. Aziraphale stepped closer to the desk. Those damn tinted glasses were obscuring the detail of Crowley’s expression. 

“Yes, humans do. But you don’t have to!” Aziraphale said, leaning over the desk and poking it to emphasize his words. “You could miracle yourself all the gold you want!” 

“That’s not what I’m meant to do!” Crowley said. She reached to one corner of her desk and with some effort picked up a gold nugget, larger than it had any right to be. “And look at this one, angel. Isn’t it pretty? Matches my eyes, don’t you think?” She nudged the glasses down on her nose and looked at Aziraphale with those snake eyes of hers. The similarity really was striking. The golden depths of Crowley’s eyes threatened to swallow Aziraphale into them. He shook his head. 

“Crowley, will you stop that? We will return this nugget to the poor prospector and apologize in this instant."

“We? I’m not accountable to you for my deeds, darling." Crowley rolled the gold nugget in her hands with an air of disinterest about her. 

“I do not appreciate your tone," Aziraphale said. His hands were shaking, and he curled them into fists to stop it. They shook anyway. 

“I don’t appreciate you meddling with my work!” 

“We have been meddling with each other’s work for centuries!” 

“And you have done much worse temptations for me than this one was!”

“Maybe! But this is different!” 

“How? Explain it to me so that I understand, because I don’t see it!” Crowley got up from her slouch and leaned over the desk. The yellow eyes stared unblinkingly over the golden frames of her glasses. They were challenging, angry, so close and so very, _very_ Crowley. 

Aziraphale stared back, unblinking as well. 

Crowley wanted him to explain?

He would explain. 

* * *

Eben’s ear was aching from being pressed up against the door. He had considered going into Cat’s-eye Crowley’s suite to talk for himself, but curiosity had won over. The voices were muffled but clear enough through the door, and while Eben didn’t catch everything that was said, he figured he understood enough. The man who had saved him from the woods, the soft looking one who had then barreled into the saloon like a steam engine, was called Angel. He was a prospector, just like Eben. And he had managed to do something that every sourdough in Dawson dreamed of and none had succeeded: he had become close to Cat’s-eye.

The argument wasn’t about his gold anymore. It was about the two of them. And oh boy, how deeply the two of them _cared_ about each other. But that care was twisted into a knot and couldn’t find it’s way out the right way. Eben imagined it humming in the room like static electricity, searching for a way to erupt.

“How? Explain it to me so that I understand, because I don’t see it!” Cat’s-eye had said, and a silence of only a moment fell into the room. In the heat of the argument it was heavy and dangerous, charged with that static. The hairs in Eben’s neck stood up. 

A moment like a missed heartbeat passed. Then Angel broke the silence.

“Fine! I will!” he shouted. “You want to know how hard prospecting is? You want to know what these poor creatures have to go through with no miracles whatsoever? Fine. I’ll show you.” Eben heard movement from the room, and a scraping sound as if furniture was moved. Cat’s-eye yelped. 

“What are you doing – Angel, put me down at once!” she demanded. 

Eben heard footsteps approaching and got out of the way just in time before Angel kicked the door from its hinges. Surrounded in a cloud of dust, the strange man appeared from Cat’s-eye’s suite with the star herself lifted over his shoulder. He looked nothing like the soft man who had saved Eben from the woods. No. He looked dangerous. 

“Here’s your gold, my boy,” Angel said and forced a brief smile at speechless Eben. He placed the heavy gold nugget the size of his fist in Eben’s hands. Eben tucked the gold safely away in his rucksack, and when he was done he saw Angel walking away from the suite, Cat’s-eye Crowley on one shoulder and expensive looking furs under his other arm. Cat’s-eye cursed liberally while Angel made his way towards the stairs. 

When the pair disappeared down the stairs, Eben got his own feet moving again. He was not about to miss getting to witness whatever was going to happen next. Angel must have been out of his mind if he thought he could make his way out of the saloon the same way he had come in. 

But when Eben reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Angel go through the backstage doors and into the crowded saloon floor. The loud chatter died immediately. Eben peeked into the room and saw everyone’s gaze turned to the man carrying Cat’s-eye. The band ended their song in cacophony, dancing couples came to a halt on the dance floor, and a troop of performers stood on the stage, unmoving. Prospectors sitting on the tables held their tankards frozen mid-air, their mouths hanging open.

The star of the saloon herself didn’t seem too bothered by the situation. Cat’s-eye had propped her chin up on her hand, and Eben could have sworn she looked mostly inconvenienced, or even amused, if that only hadn’t been such an inappropriate reaction for being kidnapped. She spotted Eben peeking through the backstage door and waddled her fingers at him. Her tinted glasses had slipped down her nose. Eben raised his hand hesitantly to wave back, but froze as he saw her eyes proper. 

The stories explaining the origin of Miss Crowley’s nickname… they were way, _way_ off. 

For that brief moment the room was perfectly still in time, like a sculpture. And maybe, just maybe, if Angel had surrendered at that point, things would have turned out fine. 

But the second the man moved a muscle again the silence was broken by the sound of chairs scraping the floor as the prospectors got up from their seats. What they saw was one prospector trying to appropriate the star of the saloon to himself. Nobody had a right to do that. The show had to go on, and it was every miner’s right to watch it. 

Eben saw some of the prospectors grinning. There hadn’t been a good brawl in ages. 

* * *

The events that followed were not recounted by a single eye-witness. Somehow every single participant of the brawl had gotten their memory hazy about the details of it. The only person who might have been able to recount the events was Eben, but if you had asked him about it, he would have told you he had been far away from Dawson that night. In fact, he would claim he had never been to Dawson at all. He would say he had never even _heard_ of the place. And in any case, you would not have been able to find Eben, because he had already packed his packs and hopped on a ship headed across the ocean.

The rumours that went around Dawson City were based on the accounts of those who found the beaten crowd afterwards, groaning and slowly regaining their consciousness. At that point the aggressor had long since made his way to the wilderness with his prisoner. 

And the rumours kept the city talking for weeks! Could you believe that one prospector was able to single-handedly take down a saloon-full of toughest thugs of Dawson City? Not everyone believed it. Regardless of whether you believed it or not, one thing was clear: the worst scoundrel of all had done the unimaginable and stolen the True Star of the North. There was no denying it. Cat’s-eye Crowley, the owner and the outshining star of Saloon Fortuna, had been taken! A monster of a man had stolen her to an unknown location in the wilderness, to his mysterious claim that had the unimaginable riches hidden in it but also the deadliest traps on the way. The city wailed. What horrors would precious Miss Crowley have to face, all alone in the mercy of the brutal kidnapper? Rescue parties were sent and they returned empty handed, not being able to find the claim of the notorious brute. The city mourned the loss of its brightest star.

And then it moved on to talk about other things. No rumour lives long if it can’t find new fuel. But the reputation of one Mr. “Knockout” Fell never recovered.

Only people who ever got to hear Eben’s account of the events were his grandchildren. They would eventually eavesdrop and hear what their grandpa muttered to himself when he thought no-one was listening. He muttered stories of a man called Angel Fell, a real devil in human disguise. A man who had a power to channel demonic forces to do his bidding. 

There was another character in the stories too. A thief, with eyes of the Beast. And the children heard old Papa Eben say that if anyone deserved that demon, it was the thief. 

The children whispered those stories to each other in the dark after bedtime. And when those stories stopped being scary, they went to visit nice Mr. Fell’s bookshop a couple of blocks away and asked him to sell them horror stories for a penny. He never sold them a single book, but he was very good at telling stories. Mr. Fell’s stories had demons almost as scary as the old Papa Eben’s demon had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To set the mood, go listen to [Cold Klondike Hearts](https://open.spotify.com/track/6kPWJl4EtsaCErb4pOxY0F?si=EcNZElR_Q0uEMQIwO6e65w) & [The Last Sled](https://open.spotify.com/track/7qOx96ZYXCfzkg0nSg2Fnz?si=kWhVjZgiSSGCAgjk2HthNQ) by Tuomas Holopainen. They are practically the reason for why this series is written, and even contain some out-of-context spoilers for the events ahead. 
> 
> Briefly quoted The Picture of Dorian Gray and even more briefly Hamlet in the text. Big recommendation to listen Michael Sheen read Dorian Gray as an audio book! 
> 
> Eben -> Ebenezer Scrooge -> Scrooge McDuck. 
> 
> For clarity: Dawson is the city, Klondike is the close region surrounding it, and Yukon is the larger Canadian territory. “Sourdough” is a name used for an experienced prospector.
> 
> Find my cover illustration for the series [here](https://lunar-system.tumblr.com/post/636674059619450880/saloon-fortuna-read-the-sign-above-the-opulent) and an illustration for this chapter [here](https://lunar-system.tumblr.com/post/636674088360919040/northern-lights-yes-crowley-said-dragging-out).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley moves in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Negative self-talk

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, dangling upside down on Aziraphale’s shoulder as he made his way through the dark forest. All she could see was Aziraphale’s back and some dark shapes of the upside down landscape, darkened even further by her glasses. Occasionally the rucksack from Aziraphale’s other shoulder bumped into her, and it was more than annoying. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s a bit late to change my mind now, Crowley dear. Don’t you think?” Aziraphale said, politely and not at all apologetically. 

“After the mess you made at my saloon?” Crowley asked. “It was a good show. What a shame they won’t remember it.”

“Come now. That wasn’t the point of it," Aziraphale said. “I would certainly have avoided hurting so many people, if I had a choice. But they were so bloodthirsty! What is the matter with the people here? I do miss London something terrible. People there have manners.”

Crowley considered this for a moment. “Have you ever _met_ a Londoner?”

“I only mean that people there are bloodthirsty in a _polite_ manner.”

“Right. Well, in defence of my customers, they did see you trying to kidnap me. And not only trying! Actually succeeding!” Crowley said. “Didn’t know you had it in you. I’m quite impressed," she added, and meant it. Aziraphale was still able to surprise her, even after all the centuries she had known him.

Aziraphale huffed. “You did give me a reason to, if I remember correctly.”

“I never meant for you to drag me into the woods," Crowley said. She hadn’t meant _anything_ with the argument, other than maybe to protect her wounded pride. It was more than embarrassing to get caught doing such menial deeds. 

“It is most efficient to learn by doing, I’ve heard them say.”

“So what are you going to make me do?” Crowley demanded. “All the boring mining stuff you’ve been complaining about? It sounds awfully dull. I enjoyed my time at the saloon, just so you know. This is very inconvenient for me.”

“You were being very stubborn. This is to teach you some manners," Aziraphale explained decidedly.

Crowley sighed. She was bouncing up and down with every step Aziraphale took in the heavy snow. She was starting to feel the cold too.

Crowley was, however, very curious about where this might lead. She rarely saw this side of Aziraphale – righteous and angry, even forcefull. It intrigued her. Never even in her dreams had she thought of this as a possibility. And yet here she was, hauled to the wilderness in Aziraphale’s unyielding hold. It was completely unprecedented and very, _very_ interesting.

But it didn’t change the fact that it also was truly inconvenient to be snatched away from her saloon with no notice at all. Would her dancers be alright during her absence? A picture of Dorothy flashed in Crowley’s mind, those lost looking eyes peeking underneath her unruly bangs. No-one would keep on tempting Dorothy out of her shell now. It would have been crucial to keep influencing her now that she was malleable, finally away from her hellish family. But alas...

Crowley hit Aziraphale’s back with her fist. “Hey, did you take those furs of mine when you stole me? Care to actually give them to me?”

“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale slowed down and Crowley saw the supply sled he was pulling bump to his calves. “One moment. I’ll set you down.”

Aziraphale lowered Crowley down on the snow. It was a terrible idea. Crowley was only wearing high heeled shoes and no trousers under her long dress, and the snow stung her bare skin terribly. Crowley cursed and accidentally sparked fire from her toes. In other circumstances she might have been thrilled to find out she possessed such an unlikely talent, but now the fire melted the snow around her and made her dress wet. It started to cool down rapidly. Soon the hem would be frozen solid. 

“This is terrible," Crowley settled to say while looking down at her unfortunate clothes.

“I admit I might have rushed our departure. We should have picked you at least some decent shoes…” Aziraphale said apologetically.

“My shoes are decent, thank you very much. It’s the situation that’s indecent," Crowley said bitterly. Aziraphale visibly shrunk and Crowley cursed her hasty words. They were on a thin ice. If she wasn’t careful, Aziraphale might return her to Dawson before something could… _develop_ out of this. “Give me the coat. I’ll make a do.”

Aziraphale dug the furs out of the sled and Crowley wrapped the exquisite fur coat tight around her. It was definitely not meant for hiking but at least it was very warm. She took her glasses off and placed them into a pocket of the coat. No need to hide her eyes with only Aziraphale around. “Now what?” she asked. 

Aziraphale considered. “We can’t possibly have you walk in the snow in that footwear. I’ll make you a spot in the sled. This one only meant for pulling equipment and such, but should do the trick.” He began unstrapping some bags from the sled and fastened them to his already heavy-looking rucksack instead. Once he was done and only soft packages remained in the sled, he gestured Crowley to take a seat. She sat on it gingerly. The sled sank deep into the snow. 

Aziraphale hoisted the heavy rucksack up to his back and grabbed the sled rope. “All set?”

“I’m good," Crowley said and wondered if Aziraphale really would be able to drag both her and the equipment all the way to his claim. He had done a good job so far, but had also complained that the hike was long. If Crowley wasn’t being kidnapped at the moment, she supposed she ought to have been helping.

“On we go, then," Aziraphale said chipperly and turned his back to the sled. The rope tightened and Aziraphale’s posture tensed when he started to pull. After the first laborious tug the sled was making its way through the snow, if a bit too deep in it to be effortless. 

Crowley began to warm up underneath the furs. This way of travel wasn’t too bad. The view was good, she thought, and watched Aziraphale’s wide thighs work as he pulled the weight of her through the snow. If the sled got miraculously lighter after a while and stopped sinking so deep in the snow, well, it was probably just because Aziraphale got used to the rhythm of the hiking. Crowley sat back and watched the northern lights coming into view through the tall pine trees.

* * *

It was well into the next day that Aziraphale stopped the sled in front of a glacier. Crowley twitched awake. She had been dozing off in the sled, and was pleased to wake up to that subtle vividness of the world that meant Aziraphale was close. 

So it had not been a dream. Aziraphale had really kidnapped her. What a wonderful place the world was sometimes, and so full of possibilities.

Aziraphale turned towards Crowley. “Time to wake up, dear.”

Crowley ignored him and instead looked up at the majestic glacier in front of them. It’s steep wall rose high above the treetops, and it was surrounded by hostile cliffs from each side, blocking the way past the mountains. Everything about it looked like a ‘stay away’ sign. 

“Why did we stop?” she asked.

“We’re almost there. But you’ll have to get up from the sled, I’m afraid, so we can go through.”

“Through what? Through where?” Crowley asked even though she was awfully certain she already knew the answer. 

Aziraphale pointed at a creek running through the glacier in front of them. It had carved a cave through the ice. Crowley wasn’t sure if she would be able to stand upright in the cave.

“Why?” she asked, just generally about the universe.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Heaven set it up. Don’t ask me.” He set his rucksack down on the ground. “I’m just doing what I’m told. And I’m told to dig gold on the patch of land that’s beyond this glacier, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Crowley got up from the sled and gingerly stepped on the snow. She stretched and cracked her back deliciously. Then she walked closer to the cave and peered into its blue, icy darkness. “Are you sure they’ve not set it to collapse if a demon sets a foot in?”

Aziraphale had begun to strap the bags back to the sled and his fingers faltered. “Uh… I should hope not. I mean. I _should_ hope they have but I.... oh nevermind, you know what I mean.” He turned his face away and pulled the fastening straps too tight. 

Crowley snorted. “Just know that if I get crushed by a glacier, it’s on you,” she said. “Or if I freeze to death, or starve, or, I don’t know, get mauled by a bear. It’s a lot of responsibility to have a prisoner.”

Aziraphale straightened up from where he had been crouching by the sled. He looked embarrassed, which Crowley noted with delight. “A prisoner, really? Crowley, I do admit I was a touch dramatic last night, but a prisoner?” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, crossing her arms. She tutted and shook her head. “Where’s your spine? You began on such a good note yesterday. Don’t squander it! Are you saying that if I decide to walk away now you’ll just let me?”

Aziraphale looked lost and didn’t seem to know what to say. Well, Crowley was not about to let this one slide. She was feeling more awake than she had had in ages. If it came at the cost of playing a damsel in distress, she might as well do it properly. 

“Let’s set some rules, okay?” Crowley continued. “You dragged me all the way here, and you didn’t strictly speaking ask if I wanted to come.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but Crowley held up a hand. “Look, I’m here now, am I not? So let’s just… roll with it. It’s the sensible thing to do, in case anyone comes asking questions. You stole me, therefore I’m your prisoner. Right?”

“It’s just that… I don’t feel comfortable about lying, Crowley.”

“Yeah, but – no – yeah, that’s my point! It’s not lying. It’s the truth! You stole me, hence I’m your prisoner, and when it comes down to it, you are thwarting all the viles I _could_ be committing in Dawson by not having me there. So you are the winner in the situation,” Crowley said and realised at the same time that while Aziraphale could explain himself out of the situation, it might not be so easy for her if Hell asked. How far exactly was she willing to go to spend time alone with Aziraphale? 

Aziraphale fidgeted. “I don’t know. It seems… different now, in the daylight.”

Crowley shook her head. Just last night Aziraphale had decided to take her away and _already now_ he was fighting himself about it. Once again he was restricting himself with some made-up rules. And once again it was up to Crowley to talk him out of it.

“You were fine with it yesterday,” she said, wondering if she had the patience for this. Patience had never been her forte.

“Yes, but I was _angry._ You were being very insufferable.”

“Nothing new about that! You were being very stubborn. And now we’re here.”

“And now we're here.” 

They stared at each other, Crowley confidently with her arms crossed and Aziraphale with an uncertain look on his face. It wasn’t the best look for him. Crowley shook her head again. Where was the righteous fury from last night? That righteous, _delicious_ fury –

Crowley swallowed and tried to get back on track. Prisoner. That’s what she was supposed to be. “Alright. Here’s a test. I’m escaping into that dangerous forest full of wolves and, and, and… other dangerous things. Mean prospectors and suchlike,” Crowley said and began walking past Aziraphale. 

“Uh…” Aziraphale’s head turned as he watched her go.

“Oh no, your prisoner is escaping! Whatever can you do?” Crowley exclaimed and raised her arms up in the air. She heard Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching and soon felt a hand on her shoulder. 

“Please don’t go.” Aziraphale looked genuinely sad when Crowley turned around. The look caught her off guard and she pushed Aziraphale’s hand away before thinking. 

“You are no good at playing your part, angel,” she said with a frown. Aziraphale had no business looking all mopey like that. What was she supposed to do with that? Angry Aziraphale had been much simpler to deal with. “Unbelievable. Next time when I try to escape, I expect more effort from your part, okay? Weren’t you always meant to be a guardian of some sort?”

“A principality,” muttered Aziraphale. 

“Exactly. Get that thing going on. I’m worth much better guarding than whatever that weak show was about,” Crowley said, and shoved Aziraphale’s shoulder for emphasis. Aziraphale barely swayed but it did lure a smile out of him. 

“And stoke that anger, if nothing else,” Crowley added. Yep, she could not get rid of the vision of the anger. And it truly had been a _vision._ Just a thought of it sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. It was probably only because of that anger that Crowley had allowed herself to be manhandled all the way here. Or maybe it had been just because it was Aziraphale. Who knew. All Crowley knew was that if anyone else but Aziraphale had tried it, only a smouldering pile of ash would have been left of them.

Aziraphale had the audacity to huff and roll his eyes then. “You want me to be angry? Luckily it’s you that I stole, then,” he said with a shy hint of an edge to his voice.

“I’ll make sure to provide.”

“Careful. You’re on my mercy,” Aziraphale said, and _now_ there was that little cheeky smile Crowley had been searching for. 

“Is _that_ how it is now?” Crowley replied with a matching smile.

Aziraphale sighed, but kept on smiling. “I suppose it is.”

“That’s what I’m talking about! Now, march me to that patch of land of yours, would you? What was it called? Pain something?”

“White Agony Creek, silly,” Aziraphale laughed. “After you!”

Aziraphale gestured towards the creek, which disappeared into the blue darkness of the ice cave. Crowley stepped to the opening and peered inside. It didn’t feel especially holy, or anything out of ordinary. Just a massive weight of ice they had to step right into, walking alongside an icy stream. 

Just a massive weight of ice that would keep them separated from the rest of the world for who knew how long...

Aziraphale appeared to her side, pulling the sled after him.

“Shall we?” 

* * *

The sight that greeted Crowley on the other side was more beautiful than any of the cheap post cards you could buy from Dawson. She gaped at the landscape.

“I told you it's beautiful,” Aziraphale said somewhat smugly. “Follow me.”

Aziraphale led her into the valley, walking alongside the creek. Parts of the valley were woods, and parts of it were shaped by a human hand – well, a human-like hand – to better suit the prospecting. Trees had been cut, clearings had been formed, constructions set alongside the creek, and ground dug up here and there. Crowley heard the sound of galloping hooves somewhere nearby, and some kind of animal calls from the other side of the valley. 

Soon they reached a small cabin built on a hill. It had a nice view to the surrounding valley. The cabin itself was surrounded by all kinds of prospecting equipment Crowley did not know the name or the use of. A shovel and an axe were pretty much the extent of her knowledge. 

Aziraphale pulled his sled to a stop and gestured towards the cabin. “Welcome to your new home!” he said with a smile.

“Prison,” Crowley corrected. 

Aziraphale’s smile faltered. “Erm, yes. Right. Whichever you prefer.” He opened the door and let Crowley step inside.

Crowley stood inside the small cabin and was underwhelmed. _This is it?_ might have been a suitable comment, but on the other hand, this obviously _was_ it. It was a single, square room, furnished with a table and a stool by the door, a small stove and counter by one wall and a bed by another. The back wall had a small door and was otherwise lined up with shelfs full of supplies and equipment. Practically everything was made out of unpainted wood. 

“I know it's not much, but it's a home. Of sorts,” Aziraphale said as he stepped into the cabin, carrying sacks and boxes with him. He set them by the back wall and began unpacking their contents.

Crowley hummed a vague reply and bit her lips. She couldn’t help but to think about the luxurious suite she had back at Saloon Fortuna. She already missed it. How had she taken for granted to have other textures than just wood everywhere? And mirrors, she had definitely taken mirrors for granted. And her queen sized bed, always soft enough, covered with the warmest quilts. Which made Crowley realise… 

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale continued stocking the shelves. 

“There’s only one bed.”

Aziraphale turned to glance at Crowley, looking a bit wary. “Oh, yes, you can of course have it. Since you're my guest – I mean, my prisoner. Sorry,” he said and busied himself with the supplies again.

“And where will you sleep?” Crowley asked. 

“In the shed. I’ll set up a camp bed,” Aziraphale said and pointed at the small door next to him. “You can have the whole grand suite for yourself,” he added with a smile.

“How kind,” Crowley said. Suite, indeed. Very funny. She went to sit on the bed and found it surprisingly soft. “Did you honestly drag a mattress all the way here? And since when do you even sleep?” 

“I was still using miracles when I built the house. Quite excessively, actually,” Aziraphale said and sighed wistfully. “And I've gotten into the habit of sleeping every now and then. The body seems to like it. The work is quite physical, you see.”

Aziraphale continued to put away the rest of the supplies. Crowley sulked despite herself. She had agreed to follow Aziraphale in the end, but… Things had better get _really_ interesting so that putting up with this outdated lifestyle was worth it. 

Aziraphale folded up the emptied sacks and placed them on a shelf too. He had attempted to organize everything neatly: everything was folded or put in boxes, placed on shelves and even labeled. Even so there somehow remained that sense of cozy disorder that thrived in Aziraphale’s bookshop in London as well. Items spilled out of their containers and some balanced precariously on the corners of the shelves. A small metal container, a strongbox by the looks of it, nearly tumbled down on the floor when Aziraphale opened its lid to deposit coins from his pockets in it. He then wrangled it shut and took it with him to the shed through the small door. Behind the door was a narrow space lined with piles of chopped wood from floor to ceiling. 

When Aziraphale came back, he reached to a bottom shelf and produced a pair of worn-out winter boots and showed them to Crowley. “So that your feet don’t get cold out there.”

Crowley took the pair. They were horrendous and in a laughable contrast with her evening gown and fur coat. She knocked the high heeled shoes off her feet anyway and put Aziraphale’s shoes on. Anything was better than having to walk in the snow in indoor-shoes.

“Do you want to borrow a pair of trousers? A shirt?” Aziraphale asked.

“Absolutely not,” Crowley said. It would have been the reasonable thing to do, surely. But she liked the thought of parading around Aziraphale’s claim in her evening gown, reminding Aziraphale that she was meant to be in the city and not here. “What happens now?” 

“Do you need time to settle in?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly. 

Crowley shrugged. She had nothing to unpack. 

“Alright. I’ll just show you around then. Teach you how prospecting works,” Aziraphale said, picked up some equipment from the wall and headed to the door.

“Alright,” Crowley echoed and followed Aziraphale out of the cabin. 

Might as well get to it.

* * *

Aziraphale found himself nervous, faced with the task of explaining human prospecting to Crowley. Which was silly, really. Prospecting was nothing personal to him. It was just a part of his assignment. But if Crowley thought prospecting was dull, she might decide to leave. And since she was already here… Well. It would be a shame if Crowley decided to return to Dawson quite so soon.

Aziraphale started from the basics: panning the gold.

“See, because gold is heavier than the soil, it will remain in the pan while the other sediment is washed away by the water,” Aziraphale explained. “The rockers and sluice boxes utilise the same principle, but are more mechanical,” he continued and pointed at the wooden structures by the creek. 

“This feels so... _incredibly_ unnecessary,” Crowley said and poked the tiny gold grains at the bottom of the pan. 

Aziraphale looked at the pan and sighed. Crowley was right, of course. While he was alone at the claim Aziraphale mostly managed to convince himself of Heaven’s purposes with this assignment. But with Crowley here, her saying out loud the doubts Aziraphale had only quietly thought about so far, it was harder.

“Well. Maybe it _seems_ unnecessary, but it is all for a good cause, I’m sure,” he explained and avoided Crowley’s gaze. “Anyway, here’s the actual mine.”

He led Crowley to a hole in the ground, supported by a wooden structure that looked like a well. The hole reached through the permafrost, and turned into a horizontal tunnel deeper down. Digging it was Aziraphale’s least favourite part of prospecting. It was claustrophobic, dirty, and extremely tough work. 

“Most of the gold is found from placer deposits, underground. So we dig to reach the deposit, and then bring the soil up to and run it through the sluice box in the creek. The flow of the water will again separate the gold from other materials.”

Crowley peeked down in the crude mine shaft. “Nice. Reminds me of the office.”

Aziraphale bristled. 

And so the lessons continued. Aziraphale tried to explain the ins and outs of prospecting work, got tangled with words every now and then, and got flustered by Crowley’s sharp comments the other times. He explained the mechanics of gold extracting and the geological properties of the deposits, and surprised himself with how much he actually knew. Crowley was a decent student, sharp and alert, and kept Aziraphale on his toes. Any time Aziraphale started talking about gold in a poetic way, Crowley called him out of it. 

“Angel. Listen to yourself. Finding gold doesn’t tell shit about some innate _worthiness_ of a prospector,” she said when Aziraphale had talked about the value of hard work and its rewards. “It’s pure luck who happens to stumble upon a gold vein. If finding gold is an indicator of anything, then it’s about indicating that the digger was wealthy enough to afford the equipment.”

Because for Crowley, Aziraphale soon found out, prospecting wasn’t some kind of metaphor for fortitude and determination. No, Crowley saw it exactly as it was: a human child’s exercise of elements. It was putting mixed dirt in a pot and getting a specific kind of dirt sorted out of it. It wasn’t even chemistry. It was just mechanics operated by gravity. And while the results were valuable for humans, they both knew what it really was. Gold was just matter. It was pretty matter, and slightly rarer matter, but just matter nevertheless.

“I don’t see why you don’t just miracle up some and call it a day. You could lounge around all you want. Enjoy the view and what not,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and willed a tight smile on his face. It didn’t reach his eyes. This wasn’t what he had imagined having Crowley at the claim would be like. He had thought they could discreetly laugh about the lack of common sense of their superiors and bond over their fondness of Earth. But no. Crowley had to go all the way and start tearing up all of his carefully built excuses and explanations that helped him get through his day. 

And to tell Crowley why Heaven needed the gold to be dug the human way… No. It was too embarrassing.

“That would be against the rules,” he said, resorting to one of his stock replies for the situations when Crowley hit too close to home. Crowley raised an eyebrow and didn’t comment. 

“Alright then,” Aziraphale said and tried to find his footing again. This was his claim, and he shouldn’t let Crowley get the upper hand. “See those rockers? Until the creek has properly thawn and we can utilise the flow of it, we’ll be using rockers. The water has to be carried to them. So as your first task as a prospector, take those buckets and carry a couple of rounds water up there. I’ll be by the cabin.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Crowley said, words oozing with sarcasm. She took the buckets anyway and went to fill them. 

Aziraphale left her before he could snap back a retort he regretted. He needed some time to himself. Just a little moment away from Crowley, gathering his thoughts, and maybe having a quick think about what he really thought about the value of hard work. Only one afternoon alone with Crowley at the claim and he already had to re-evaluate his beliefs. Unbelievable. 

Sometimes Aziraphale thought Crowley was dangerously good at being a demon. But on the other hand, maybe it was just Aziraphale. Aziraphale knew he was weak willed and didn’t have enough faith, not with him letting a couple of comments shook his belief in his head-office. He was soft, that’s what he was. And surely he could be a better angel than this. 

Aziraphale sat down in front of the cabin on a simple bench and picked up his wood-cutting axe to sharpen it. The whetstone whisked over the metal again and again, the movements too aggressive to be good for the blade. Aziraphale did not care. He glared at the axe and it was more his angry glare than the stone that sharpened it. 

He and Crowley had had such a wonderful time back at Saloon Fortuna, and yet now everything felt raw. Crowley was getting on his nerves. And surely she thought he was being boring, going on and on about human prospecting. As if he had a choice in the matter! But the truth was that it _was_ boring, and Crowley would soon get enough of it and leave and they’d not see each other for a century and everything would be awful forever. Insufferable demon. Why had he thought bringing her here would be a good idea? Why did it feel like sending her away now would be even worse?

After a while the motion of the whetstone slowed down and stopped. Aziraphale let the stone fall from his hands while he stared at the axe and sighed. He was supposed to be better than this. Maybe it had been a mistake, bringing Crowley here with him. And what would happen if Heaven ever found out about his doubts –

A scream cut through the valley.

Aziraphale reacted on instinct and was up on his feet before he knew it. An unintentional miracle aided him closed to the distressed voice, and another went with his axe. He threw it across a clearing where it hit a tree trunk and clipped a strand of Crowley’s long hair neatly off. A massive grizzly bear had been dragging Crowley from it. 

Now the bear looked strikingly like a deer caught in the sled lights. Aziraphale rushed towards the scene and shooed the bear off. 

“She’s with me! Don’t you dare try that again or I’ll give you a stern talking to! And remember to tell it to your family too!”

Crowley stumbled to get up as the bear skittered away. “You’ve made a pact with _bears?”_

“They are delightful creatures, if you don't bother them.” Aziraphale said and tried to tug the axe from the tree. It was stuck. He left it and turned to Crowley. “What did you do?”

“It tried to eat me!”

“She has cubs, Crowley dear. Did you provoke her?”

“And you nearly cut my head right off!” Crowley shouted and pointed to the axe.

“Please. It was a clean throw," Aziraphale said with a huff. Crowley didn’t seem convinced. “And I aided it with a miracle. I couldn’t possibly have hit you –”

“You weren’t _meant_ to be using miracles –" Crowley began, but Aziraphale cut her off. This was a far cry from a thank you. 

“Why didn’t _you_ use a miracle yourself, if you were so worried?” he snapped.

Crowley threw her hands up. “I – I – I panicked, okay? And moreover, Hell doesn’t know I’ve left my post at Dawson. I’d rather keep it that way, thank you.”

“It can’t possibly matter that much.”

“So you think being kidnapped by an angel would be a good look for me in the Hell’s eyes, hmm? Do you want to risk it and find out?”

“Oh," Aziraphale said. All snappy retorts deserted him. 

“Keep your furry friends out of my way," Crowley said and stormed off. 

Aziraphale looked at her go. Then he tried tugging the axe again. He had to wiggle it until a sharp pull got it off from the trunk with a crunch. The blade had become _extremely_ sharp.

A splash of color caught his eye. There, on the ground by the tree, was a lock of bright red hair, neatly curled around itself. 

* * *

Their first shared day turned into evening. A slim crescent moon disappeared behind the mountains and countless stars appeared one by one, painting the whole sky with their indifferent shine. Aziraphale prepared a simple meal outside the cabin by the campfire. He had arranged some logs as seats around it. But his thoughts were far away from the task, worrying about what Crowley had said about Hell. He watched as Crowley sat on one of the logs, and while he busied himself by stirring the meal, he dared to bring up his thoughts. 

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you really think it’s dangerous for you to be here?”

Crowley sighed. “I’ll manage, angel. If it comes down to it, I’ll tell them I’m here to… I don’t know. Tempt you to my viles. It would probably be helpful if you acted along.”

“Oh. Well, of course. Whatever you think will be necessary,” Aziraphale said and dropped the topic. A string of worry still lingered with him nevertheless. His whim of taking Crowley with him might have actual consequences. And not only for him, but for Crowley as well. 

“So what’s this then?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale gave her a serving of beans. Well. It was mostly beans.

“It’s dinner. And breakfast. And lunch.”

“What?” 

“I know it’s not ideal, but this is what the humans eat here,” Aziraphale said and shrugged. He was extremely aware of how poor the food was. But it was food regardless, and his belly was happier when full.

“Aren’t they… supposed to eat like… a lot of different things?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, definitely. They are all horribly malnourished. They get the, um, what do they call it, scurvy. Their teeth fall off and suchlike,” Aziraphale said, and wondered if it was all Famine’s doing. Maybe he and Crowley were not the only non-human entities in Klondike.

Crowley stared down at the mushy substance that supposedly was food. “I’ll pass,” she said and set the plate down.

“Are you sure?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll take it, then.” Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s plate. She passed it over to him.

“So. I've already been mauled by a bear and now I'll starve,” Crowley said. “When's the freezing to death going to happen? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

“You weren't mauled, you rarely eat food anyway, and I seriously doubt you can actually freeze to death either,” Aziraphale explained patiently. “Aren't you made out of Hell fire?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

“You know what I mean. You’ll keep yourself warm.”

They sat in silence. Fire crackled between them, lighting up Crowley’s sharp features in a very fetching way. Aziraphale caught himself staring, shook himself and focused on munching his food instead. 

“How can you be fine with this?” Crowley asked eventually. Her tone surprised Aziraphale. It wasn’t as biting as her comments had been for the most of the day. It might even have been concerned, if that hadn’t been so unlikely. 

“With what?”

“No miracles. Forced to live here in the woods, with no books, or restaurants. Stuck with this horrible food. Doing this… whatever your assignment even is,” Crowley said and gestured vaguely about everything. 

“It’s direct orders. I could not disobey,” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t that bad, now that he was used to it. He missed books something terrible, true, but he had plenty of stories in his head too that he retold himself. And when it came to food... The assignment would not be for forever.

“So what am I doing here?” Crowley asked. “I’m not your orders.”

Aziraphale froze. Was Crowley really asking him this, directly like that? Surely she knew that Aziraphale couldn’t possibly answer. “I, uh, I’m thwarting. Of course. Like you said. Thwarting the viles you are _not_ committing in Dawson at the moment.” 

“Yeah yeah, blah blah, that much I know. But why am I _here?”_

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley. She seemed annoyed. Hadn’t she been fine just this morning, coming up with this play pretend of a prisoner and a guard herself?

“Because this is my claim, and you are my prisoner?” he suggested.

Crowley drew in a deep breath and crossed her arms. “Aziraphale. _Why_ did you bring me here?”

Aziraphale swallowed. He had not been prepared for Crowley to ask. He could not possibly tell Crowley that he had just wanted her to be here with him. He could not say that he had been lonely and homesick, and that Crowley was the only being in the whole world who listened to him. He could not say that, and furthermore, he had thought that Crowley knew he could not. The two of them didn’t just go around saying things out loud to each other. There was _deniability_ to be maintained.

“Because I’m an angel and you are a demon. I’m thwarting you, and that’s how it is and always will be,” he said decidedly and hoped for Crowley to drop the topic. It was insensitive of her to start rocking the boat like that. It made Aziraphale feel very uneasy. 

“Right. I’m not listening to this crap,” Crowley said and suddenly got up from the log. She began walking briskly away from the cozy light of the fire.

“Where are you going?” 

“I’m escaping!”

“Already? Do you want me to stop you?” Azitaphale shouted after her. Crowley only flipped a rude gesture at his direction and kept on walking. 

Aziraphale grumbled to himself and finished Crowley’s serving. Had he said something wrong? Maybe Crowley needed a moment for herself after the long day, like Aziraphale had needed earlier. But he knew it was not the case. Crowley had the habit of asking without really asking, and every now and then Aziraphale managed to decipher what she was asking for. He should go after Crowley.

But on the other hand, he should _not_ go after Crowley. He should just let Crowley leave White Agony Creek and let her hike all the way back to Dawson. Then they could both forget about this whole ordeal. That would be for the best, for everyone involved. 

That thought, unfortunately, got thoroughly countered by the fact that Aziraphale did not want Crowley to leave. Not yet. Even though the first day had been many kinds of insufferable, the thought of Crowley leaving tasted sour. Surely it would not be such a harm to have Crowley around for a while longer. Maybe just a couple of days. A week at most. 

So after Crowley had gotten a fair headstart, Aziraphale stood from his seat. As an afterthought he grabbed his axe with him. Just as a prop of course. It might add weight to his role as the prison guard. He could not imagine ever actually threatening Crowley with a weapon, not even with a simple human tool like the axe. 

Aziraphale found Crowley walking slowly towards the ice cave, a bit too slowly to seem very determined. She quickened her pace when she heard Aziraphale approaching. 

“Miss? Excuse me, miss?” Aziraphale said, with a polite but determined tone.

Crowley didn’t answer. She only turned her nose up and kept on walking. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stop right there,” Aziraphale said. He blocked Crowley’s way and she stopped a couple of steps away from him.

“How so?” Crowley said. Her uncovered eyes regarded Aziraphale coldly. Their golden tint was barely visible in the darkness of the spring night.

“You see, I’m the guardian of this… hmm, gateway, and I am not allowing anyone to pass,” Aziraphale said and propped the axe on his shoulder. Maybe his acting was wooden but at least he was trying.

“That’s too bad,” Crowley said. Her tone of voice was cold as well. Cold as the glacier that blocked her way out. 

“Is it?”

“Yes. I’m sad to see you fail your duty yet again.”

A low blow, Aziraphale thought, even from Crowley. It had been nearly six thousand years since the Garden, after all. Had she no mercy? Of course not. She was a demon. 

“I see,” Aziraphale said. “I may not have the clearest record, but I assure you, I take this post very seriously.”

“I doubt you take it seriously enough,” Crowley said and lifted her chin up.

“No?”

“How far are you willing to go to stop me?” There was a challenge in the way Crowley looked down at him. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. It was hard for him sometimes to follow Crowley’s train of thought, and this play pretend didn’t make it any easier to navigate. It was a game on top of a game. But Crowley wasn’t the only one playing. Aziraphale picked a dare.

“Further than you think, I’d imagine.”

“Prove it,” Crowley spat out and took a step closer. Aziraphale didn’t budge. Instead he straightened up and held tighter to his axe.

Another step. They were nearly nose to nose, Crowley’s hooked nose hovering over Aziraphale’s pointy one.

The moment stretched in time, acting like syrup when it usually flowed like water. Something was going to give any second now. Crowley’s eyes, uncovered for once, were looking down at Aziraphale from a few inches above with cold indifference. It sent a shiver down his spine. He took a fortifying breath through his nose and _he could smell Crowley’s perfume._

Aziraphale’s courage gave in. He broke off from their stare, reached down and scooped Crowley off the ground to his arms, carefully not letting the axe on his hand to scrape her skin. 

“And that’s as close as you get to the gate, Miss Cat’s-eye,” he said and started walking back towards the campfire, decidedly not looking at Crowley. Crowley protested slightly in his hold, crossed her arms and grumbled but settled to be carried. She was taller than Aziraphale, but Aziraphale was strong. Carrying was easy for him.

He set Crowley down by the campfire, put the axe aside and began to prepare coffee to busy his hands. The coffee brewed in silence, and when it was done, he showed a wooden cup of it in Crowley’s hands.

Crowley sipped the coffee. “That went better.”

“Pardon?”

“You did better this time,” Crowley said. “I could almost believe you were meant for guarding things.”

Aziraphale was not sure what he was meant to feel. “Thank you?”

“The keyword there was _‘almost’_ ,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale turned to look at her with narrowed eyes, preparing a snappy retort. But what he saw was a warm smile, accompanied by a mischievous crinkle in Crowley’s eyes. All determination to be annoyed fled him and he found himself smiling back. Crowley’s smile widened. It became that wide smile with slightly too sharp teeth that Aziraphale knew very well and didn’t see often enough. The smile caught on to him as well, and soon he was chuckling, shaking his head. Crowley huffed a laugh as well and then tilted her head up, gazing up to the starlit sky. She sighed. 

It didn’t sound like an unhappy sigh.

“It’s a start,” Aziraphale said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale and Crowley settle into a shared life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to let the tiny yet exquisite club of awesome people, i.e. you my readers, know that I will from now on post two chapters a week! This is literally just so I get to post a chapter that includes the phrase "a demonic sleigh ride" during Christmas. Let’s gooo
> 
> CW: Colonial guilt, an anxiety attack

Prospecting was horrendously dull, just as Crowley had anticipated. After complaining for the looks of it, she still did the work, even if just to humour Aziraphale. And because there were moments that weren’t so dull, after all.

Crowley couldn’t care less about the gold itself, but she had to admit that there was a certain thrill to actually managing to find some. The gold nuggets were buried deep within the permafrost, and scattered far apart in the sands of the river. Humans had to go to unbelievable efforts to find it. Was it greed that guided them? A promise of an easy fortune? It was far from easy, that much Crowley knew already. But holding her first nuggets of gold on the palm of her hand, she felt proud. The nuggets were heavier than they seemed, and the glimmer of them was beautiful. Maybe it was this feeling, the sense of accomplishment, that urged humans to go after the stuff.

That, or greed.

Way more than finding the gold, Crowley enjoyed the close proximity to Aziraphale. The rest of the world had been shut far away from the two of them, and that small slice of the world that remained was all Aziraphale. After the rocky start of the first day, they had settled into a safe routine and managed to not ruffle each other's feathers too much. Crowley didn’t poke at Aziraphale’s stubborn beliefs at every turn. Aziraphale didn’t make any more simple-minded remarks of their opposing natures.

If there was something about Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t like, it was that insistence on their opposing natures. Aziraphale seemed to think that them being an angel and a demon defined them to the core. Crowley hadn’t bought that in a while anymore. Hadn't they grown to become more than their essence, after being so long on the Earth together? Crowley wanted to believe so. And she looked forward to the day Aziraphale believed it too. Every now and then it seemed like it already, but then Aziraphale always retreated behind the old catch-phrases of his. _I am an angel, you are a demon._

Something about Aziraphale was different here than in London, though. The difference intrigued Crowley immensely. Here there was no hiding behind books or fuzzing over dapper clothing. No, here Aziraphale was straight-forward and practical. He wore rugged and sensible clothing. His normally so neatly manicured hands were worker’s hands now, even though they were always kept carefully clean. And Aziraphale always did what was necessary for the claim’s upkeep, no matter how dull or gruesome the task. And he really did it without any miracles whatsoever.

However, the line of what exactly counted as a miracle seemed to be a bit blurry to him. Crowley saw Aziraphale off-handedly lift logs that would have needed the strength of three humans to even nudge them. Maybe Aziraphale thought humans were that strong and simply acted accordingly. Where would he have learned otherwise? From his books? No. Crowley would have teased Aziraphale about it, but every time she saw Aziraphale pick that axe of his and split heavy logs like they were toothpicks, all words seemed to escape her.

Apart from the shows of strength Aziraphale unknowingly put up for her, the best moments of Crowley’s days were usually the evenings. The crescent moon was getting fatter in the sky night by night, and the two of them would light up a fire and sit around it, trading stories gathered through the centuries. Aziraphale brewed them coffee from freshly ground beans. He had not exaggerated when he said the coffee tasted extraordinarily good when drank underneath the starlit sky.

“Have you heard what kind of stories humans tell about rainbows these days?” Crowley asked Aziraphale one of those evenings. Aziraphale hadn't reacted so well when she had pushed for personal questions that first night, so she had decided to stick to general topics. For now. Mostly.

“Probably, but I’d be happy to hear it again," Aziraphale said.

“They say there is gold at the rainbow's end. I think it's quite fitting for humans, don’t you think? Always wanting things they can never reach.”

“That’s rather poetic of you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley waved the comment away. She was _not_ poetic. “I only meant that they are good at manufacturing their own suffering. If they just could be happy with what they have and not always go after things they can’t get, they would be much happier.”

And tormenting them would be much more difficult, Crowley added to herself. She got so much torment out of humans for free when they were like this.

“Oh, I recognise that,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not a very flattering quality. Makes my work much harder, usually.”

“But what I meant to say is that I think this story is an improvement,” Crowley said, “considering what the rainbow was originally for.”

Aziraphale pulled a face. “Really, Crowley. You know that –”

“I know, I know. Ineffable, yada yada.”

“Well. If it makes any difference to you, I do agree,” Aziraphale said, surprising Crowley. “I didn’t mean that I disagree with its original use, _obviously._ I just think this new one is a better story, like you said. There is melancholic beauty to it. Yearning for a treasure that always moves from your reach…”

Aziraphale looked wistfully in the distance. The firelight danced on his soft curls. Maybe, Crowley realised all of a sudden, topics of yearning and reaching were not the go-to after all. Avoiding personal topics, was that what she had meant to do? It had gone splendidly wrong. She cleared her throat.

“Anyway, rainbows are wasted as a murder apology. Humans are doing the right thing, stealing it back. It has potential for more.”

Aziraphale returned from the wistful staring and frowned. “Humans can’t steal a natural phenomenon.”

“Sure they can. With stories. You should know, if anyone.”

Aziraphale smiled. Good stories were a soft spot of his, Crowley knew it alright. “That’s true,” Aziraphale said. “They will tell a good story onwards for millennia.”

Crowley smiled back at him. Aziraphale would listen to all the versions of the stories the humans came up with, she knew it. They looked at each other over the cracking firelight, Aziraphale’s eyes crinkling with his smile. Crowley had to look away.

“What is it with humans and gold anyway?” she asked.

“Hmm? The thrill of finding it, I suppose,” Aziraphale said. “The rarity elevates its status. It becomes mythical, and maybe they hope the legend of it will elevate themselves too.”

“Nah. I think it's greed,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale sighed. “Of course you do, dear.”

Crowley hid her smile.

Some nights they might sit and talk all through the night. Neither of them needed sleep necessarily, but their bodies seemed to be happier if given a chance for it. Crowley slept nearly every night, Aziraphale every now and then. What Aziraphale did on those nights he didn’t sleep, Crowley did not know.

On one restless night Crowley sneaked to peek through the door leading to the shed, where Aziraphale slept. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, or looking for – maybe to hear him snore so she could poke fun about it the next day – but instead she saw Aziraphale sitting on the camp bed with a candle lit beside it. He had that small strongbox on his lap with its lid open. Crowley could see a stack of papers peeking out of it. One of the papers, a heavy and yellowed parchment folded in three, was now held open in Aziraphale’s careful hands. And that gentle smile on his eyes when he looked at the paper, at whatever was written on it – the sight of it tugged at something inside Crowley’s ribcage. 

She watched Aziraphale from the shadows until Aziraphale folded the paper and stashed it carefully away into the strongbox. Aziraphale rummaged to put the box away, and Crowley went quietly back to her bed. But the soft look on Aziraphale’s face kept her up the rest of the night, and the vision of it lingered in her head persistently for days. 

Crowley tried to decide what had been written on the paper. A poem? A letter? If a letter, who was it from?

“What’s in the box?” she outright asked one day, when they were setting up the sluice boxes by the creek. The ice had begun to thaw from it and the stream bubbled happily in the spring sun, even though the water was dreadfully cold.

“Pardon?” 

“You have a strongbox. What’s in it?”

“Oh, erm… Some of the gold. The deed to the claim. Some… letters.”

Crowley recognised the way Aziraphale fidgeted. There was something he wasn’t telling. “Letters from who?”

“What – why do you – well, from you, for example. Why do you need to know? It’s private. Don’t go poking into it.” Aziraphale turned away. “And get back to sluicing.”

Knowing that Aziraphale had secrets bothered Crowley more than she would have liked to admit. Weren’t they each other's confidants on Earth? And in all of existence, for the matter. The fact that Aziraphale didn’t tell Crowley what was in the box didn’t have to stop her, though. Snooping around was an excellent activity for a demon who was not able to fulfil her duties, after all. Crowley decided to find out what was so precious for Aziraphale in the box, one way or another. 

One night the northern lights lit up the night sky again. It was a rarer phenomenon this time of the year, when the nights were not as long anymore as they were in the mid-winter. But this one night the sky shone in greens and purples, and Crowley sat with Aziraphale by the unlit campfire, watching the skies. That night she told him how the stars were created and what had been required for painting nebulae. She didn’t think back on those days too often, but for the occasion it seemed fitting. When Crowley told Aziraphale how star dust had to be mixed with billions Earth years worth of time to get the right twirling shades she had been looking for, she caught that same tender smile on Aziraphale’s eyes that had kept her up the other night.

Crowley didn’t talk about nebulae after that. Aziraphale could smile tenderly at her past all he wanted, but she was someone else these days. Aziraphale should have known that. He was already stuck with the thought of the two of them being on opposite sides. Crowley didn’t need Aziraphale to get mixed up about who she was on top of that.

* * *

Days flew by and Aziraphale soon found out that Crowley’s presence really did wonders to the place. The claim started to feel quite like home to him, now that he shared it with Crowley. 

Aziraphale wondered if all this time he had actually just been lonely. It was somewhat unlikely. He was very used to being on his own during his time on the Earth. But sharing his time and space with Crowley now made it seem like he had actually been missing out on something during all those years alone. 

They had a well set routine to their days, and living was easy. It was fun too. Everything was more fun with Crowley around. And Aziraphale still could not quite believe his luck that Crowley had actually agreed to humour him and stay. 

As the spring progressed, he saw Crowley take more interest in the surrounding nature, instead of only complaining about it. Sometimes Aziraphale saw her crouch down to examine the freshly emerged flowers of the spring that dared to peek through the thawing snow. He tried not to comment on it, and failed. 

“I’m not admiring it. I’m threatening it,” Crowley responded from where she was kneeling by the shy little plant that Aziraphale couldn’t identify.

“Of course.”

Aziraphale stood and watched Crowley admire the plant. Some sliver of angelic empathy must have slipped out of him, because while he smiled fondly at the back of Crowley’s head, the plant bursted a bud open into a flower. Crowley’s head turned around like a whiplash and Aziraphale staggered backwards.

“What are you doing?” Crowley yelped. “Stop it! It will think way too highly of itself now!”

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to interfere,” Aziraphale said. He really hadn’t meant to. “Um. My hand slipped?”

Crowley regarded him under a furrowed brow. “Stay away from my flowers.”

Aziraphale let the vegetation of the valley be. It was enough for him to admire Crowley who in turn admired the flowers. But even so every time he saw the shy flowers of the early spring, he smiled. Having Crowley around really made everything about his life shine a bit brighter. 

At least, it usually did. Then there were the times when Crowley purposefully poked at him. Tonight, sitting by the campfire like any evening, Crowley was ruthlessly tearing apart Aziraphale’s worldview again, and it did not brighten up his day at all.

“Your _guilt_ isn’t helping them, Aziraphale. It’s only making _you_ feel like you are somehow better than the human prospectors,” Crowley said and pointed at Aziraphale with her coffee cup for emphasis. Some of the coffee sloshed out of it. She was too invested in the argument to care.

“But I’m not here voluntarily like the humans are! I’m simply following orders,” Aziraphale said and writhed on the log where he sat. It was a bad argument and he knew it.

“And what difference does that make, exactly?” Crowley asked.

“Well, I don’t _mean_ to cause any harm, unlike –”

“A-ha! But the fact that you don’t _mean to_ doesn’t change that fact that you _are,”_ Crowley said triumphantly. “Really, Aziraphale, this is thick from you. Do you think it makes a difference for the Hän that you are sorry? That you didn’t _mean_ to steal their land? How does that help them, exactly?”

“You are not making me feel any better, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sadly. Crowley wasn’t usually quite _this_ ruthless.

“Good,” Crowley said and gulped down the rest of her coffee. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he heard right. “What do you mean _good?”_

“I mean, it is not about your feelings!” Crowley said. “Actually, it’s not about you, period.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, slightly offended, and more than slightly guilty about the fact that he was offended. 

“Oh come on,” Crowley continued. “I can’t believe you are making me defend the humans here. Me? I’m the one who should torment them, remember?”

Aziraphale stared gloomily at the fire. The implication that he treated humans worse than a literal demon was not doing any good for his squirming conscience. 

“I mean, this is the difference between you and me, isn’t it?” Crowley began again. “When you do something bad, you try to cover it up by saying _yes but I felt really bad about it.”_ She made a mocking accent and Aziraphale scrunched up his nose at the sound of it. Crowley continued. “Like that changes anything. Whereas, when I do bad things, I know that it doesn’t make a blessed difference whether I feel good or bad about it afterwards. The bad deed is already done! It doesn’t change the _consequences."_

Crowley paused for a moment and added: “Not that I would feel bad about causing harm to humans, because obviously I don’t.” 

Aziraphale felt small. Crowley was right. Of course Crowley was right, she was always right, and it was exactly the reason why Aziraphale tried to avoid even thinking about these things. There were certain _implications_ for Crowley being right. If Crowley was right, then Heaven was wrong, to start with. And just the thought of that made Aziraphale’s breath grow more shallow. And his heartbeat acted oddly too, getting all fast like that. 

“Crowley, you know I can’t disobey. There would be consequences for that too, you know. What would even happen to me?” he said as an attempt to reason his way out. There was no reason for his breathing to grow quite _this_ shallow over a minuscule disagreement. 

“Why don’t you mess around and find out?” Crowley suggested. She started spinning the coffee cup in her slender fingers from its handle. “What’s this really about, anyway? You are not usually this bothered by human business.”

Aziraphale stared in the flames and mapped the frantic movements of them with his eyes. His thoughts flickered equally frantically in his head. Yes, humans had always been doing this. It was horrible, yes, but it wasn’t what was making his throat feel tight like this right now, and his lungs feel like they had missed the memo about the right breathing procedure. It was about Heaven. Of course it was. They hadn’t even _mentioned_ the Hän. As if they didn’t even exist. But they did. They were real people, and they existed.

And Heaven did not care. 

Aziraphale thought about all of his doubts which didn’t seem to go away. Following Heaven’s orders had caused him to offhandedly hurt so many people throughout the ages. 

Her orders, even… 

And then it got simply impossible to breathe. The air got caught in his throat and he tried to gulp for more, but there was no space in his lungs. His heart beat too loud, too quick, and for no reason whatsoever. This stupid body, it didn’t even _need_ to breathe. Aziraphale reached up and tugged the collar of his flannel shirt, as if it would help anything. It was no use. He was suffocating, and why did he always forget what to do when this happened, he _hated_ when this happened, and now Crowley saw him lose control of his corporation too, how was he so stupid to let this –

There was a hand on his shoulder.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “It’s okay. Breathe with me, yeah?” She took Aziraphale’s hand and held it against her chest, where Aziraphale felt the rise and fall of it. “In,” Crowley said and filled her lungs, “out,” and she slowly blew out a long exhale. Aziraphale tried to follow. It was hard, but Crowley was surprisingly patient next to him. She didn’t hurry Aziraphale, but just set up a solid rhythm for him to follow. But what good would some breathing do, it would not solve any of this, and he failed at it too like he failed at everything –

Crowley picked up Aziraphale’s coffee cup with her free hand and offered it to him. “Here.”

Aziraphale obeyed and gulped down the drink, only to choke on its alcoholic burn. “This is _whiskey.”_

“Yeah. You know, for medical use.”

Aziraphale coughed and blinked the tears from his eyes. He hadn’t had good whiskey in ages. “Is there any more?”

“Sure.” And there was more whiskey in Aziraphale’s cup. He sipped it carefully this time and managed to focus on the taste of it. Slowly the tightness around his ribcage began to ease. His heart still beat fast but wasn’t trying to escape his chest anymore.

Aziraphale became acutely aware of his hand held by Crowley. He quickly retracted it and curled it into a fist next to him. And what was maybe even worse, now that he had a clearer head again, embarrassment was crawling over his skin. Crowley _never_ lost control over her corporation like this. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, not daring to look at Crowley next to him. 

“Enough of that sort,” Crowley said. Her hand still lingered on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Heaven’s done a number on you.”

Aziraphale was about to snap something defensive in return, but found no strength to do so. Instead he leaned slightly closer, as small of a movement as he could. Crowley noticed it regardless and put an arm across his back. Aziraphale gave in to the temptation and placed his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The fur of her coat was soft and warm. 

It was a cloudy night. No light from the moon or the stars reached the valley. The darkness beyond the fire light was solid as if light hadn’t been created yet. Mountains towered somewhere in that endless dark and the rest of the world felt further away than ever before. All that existed was their campfire and Crowley’s calming presence. They sat on the same log, side by side, and Aziraphale allowed himself to be held.

He was _tired._ Heaven was never there for him. It had only ever been Crowley who had held him like this. It had only ever been Crowley who had helped him through that weird panic his body sometimes made him go through. With Crowley there with him, it had gone away quicker. And to be held like this afterwards… It was lovely. Some strains of the panic still lingered within him, but his breathing was even now. He inhaled deeply again and kept at it, maybe because he still needed to calm himself, maybe because Crowley smelled so good. Maybe both. 

Heaven was never there for him, nor were they there for all the humans either. All Heaven ever sent him was orders that conflicted with the reality of the Earth. The orders were a dead end, always trapping Aziraphale between what was good for the humans, _truly_ good, and what Heaven thought was good. 

“Maybe you are right,” he said quietly. “Maybe I should.” The words were heavy, and he shrank down under their weight. But Crowley was right there. Maybe it was safe to phrase his doubts out loud for this one time.

“What was that?” Crowley asked softly. She squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder and placed her own head on Aziraphale’s. The crackling of the fire, Crowley’s proximity and the receding panic made Aziraphale sleepy. He closed his eyes.

“What you said. Mess around. Maybe I should.”

“Wait," Crowley said and lifted her head again. Aziraphale instantly missed its reassuring weight. “Are you serious?”

Aziraphale sight. “It just doesn’t seem right that –”

“Hush,” Crowley said quickly.

“What?” Aziraphale felt slow. Crowley had just been encouraging to question his orders –

Oh. _Questioning._

“Are you worried about me?” he said with a smile. It was nice to think she did. Beneath all the prickliness and endless poking, maybe Crowley did care.

“I don’t worry,” Crowley said. Aziraphale waited for her to continue. She didn’t. Maybe if he stoked it a bit… He turned around some words in his head, tried to find the right ones. 

Aziraphale gave it a go. “It kind of sounds like She is _wrong–_

“Shut it!” 

“ _–fully_ _accused_ of, I don’t know, favouring.” He chuckled and glanced up at Crowley. He had gotten her there. She was looking down at him with a scandalised frown on her face and shook her head. 

“Okay, Aziraphale, I get it. You are going through some kind of a crisis here, but please don’t give me heart attacks like that. What do you want? I’m not going to _protect_ any humans, but sure, I can torment some of the troublemakers. Sabotage big mining businesses, maybe. But just so you know, there isn’t so much I can do. It’s a human mess. Satisfied?”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and gave Crowley’s shoulder the tiniest nudge with his head. 

They sat in silence. Aziraphale closed his eyes and kept on taking deep breaths, taking in the scent of the smoke and Crowley. Maybe it was worth it to bring Crowley to his claim, if it resulted in moments like this. 

“I’m proud of you,” Crowley said quietly, out of nowhere.

“What?” Aziraphale said and lifted his head from Crowley’s shoulder to look at her. Crowley was stubbornly looking away, which was probably good, because otherwise her face would have been very close. Aziraphale put his head back on her shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m not going to repeat it,” Crowley said. “It’s just… I’ve never met another angel who had something resembling a brain. Not that their forms necessarily have brains, in the human sense. Oh, never mind. You know what I mean.”

“Um,” Aziraphale said and shut his mouth. Crowley was proud of him? Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Probably very bad, from Heaven’s perspective. 

“Besides, how many are there now? Humans? A billion?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale considered before answering. “One billion, five hundred sixty three million, three hundred and twenty two thousand, and seventy five. No, six. Seven.”

“Right. Right, well, can’t expect you to make every single one of them happy, then?”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“No? What are you upset about, then?” Crowley asked. 

“Well, it’s about –” Aziraphale began but shook his head. “It’s selfish.”

“I like it when you’re selfish.”

“You would, wouldn’t you,” Aziraphale said with a smile. Crowley squeezed him closer to her side. 

In the safety of her hold, Aziraphale shared a selected few of his doubts. Crowley listened and nodded. She didn’t offer solutions or say he was imagining things. Instead she allowed his doubts be, without judging them or condemning him for them. It was more than Aziraphale had ever dared to hope for. 

And there, far away from the rest of the world, held safely in Crowley’s embrace, Aziraphale could see a glimpse of another world. It was a world where there were no clearly cut sides of good and evil. It was a world where Crowley could be right and Heaven could be wrong, and it would not make panic clamp Aziraphale’s lungs shut. Maybe that world existed somewhere. It was a nice thought. 

But Aziraphale also knew himself well enough to know the thought could not last. Whatever clarity he had now would slip away when faced with the harsh daylight of tomorrow. He would retreat back into the safety of his familiar ways as soon as the sun would rise. It was only in this one moment, in the darkness of the night and in the safety of Crowley’s embrace, that he had the courage to dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley tests boundaries and Aziraphale procrastinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: a sexual fantasy with a bit questionable consent? not sure how to tag!

Somewhere at the edges of her mind, Crowley knew that days were passing by. Daylight lasted longer, for starters. Full moon came and went. A waning moon illumined their late night conversations for a while until it too shrank away. The comforting rhythm she and Aziraphale had settled to gave time a cyclical quality, and it was hard to keep track of how long she had actually been at White Agony Creek. 

Every morning Crowley put her hair up in a style that was a simplified version of the updo she preferred while in the city. Every evening she combed her hair out and braided it for the night. It might have been more Cat’s-eye’s doing than Crowley’s; the human Crowley was in Dawson had her habits, and the habits were surprisingly soothing to Crowley as well. Kind of like sleep, she supposed. Crowley could have easily done without it, but there was something about hanging around humanity for so long that was simply contagious. Hair up, hair braided, went the cycle of Crowley's day, and she went happily along with it.

One day Crowley was carrying water to the rockers on the hills when she saw Aziraphale moving in deliberate patterns down in the valley. It certainly wasn’t part of the prospecting work, and it took Crowley a moment to connect the dots. This was _the_ _gavotte._

She had never seen Aziraphale dance before. It was intriguing. There was clear joy in the way he moved, even though the lack of dance partners made the dance somewhat clumsy. Crowley sat down to watch him from the distance. She could have told anyone asking that it was mischievous prying, as would have been suitable for a demon. But the truth was that Crowley felt genuine joy watching Aziraphale dance. She liked seeing Aziraphale enjoy himself. 

Crowley was honoured, truly and deeply honoured, to be a part of Aziraphale’s life. It wasn’t something she would admit out loud, but it didn’t change the fact. The evening when Aziraphale had opened up about his doubts was one of Crowley’s most treasured memories in the long span of their shared history. It felt intoxicating to be trusted like that. And Crowley longed for more of it. All she had ever wanted was to crack Aziraphale open and to be shown all that the angel was. Who was Aziraphale underneath the posh facade and the nerves? What was he hiding in the strongbox, and what was in the letters he read during the evenings? What else was he hiding?

Crowley knew that Aziraphale was so much more underneath all the rules and restrictions he placed for himself. The rule-following was a part of Aziraphale and she tried to respect that, but… She couldn't help but to think that Aziraphale would benefit from loosening up a bit. Crowley wouldn’t want him to tumble down to Hell’s ranks, but surely there was leeway. This was the _Earth,_ after all. If Aziraphale just dared to explore the options, he would become so much happier. The proof of it was right there: Aziraphale danced so freely when he thought no-one was watching. Just seeing it filled Crowley with longing to know what else Aziraphale might have been capable of if he didn’t restrict himself so much. 

If Aziraphale let go of the rules… Could they be together like this, and in other ways? Would Aziraphale want that? 

Was it only because of the rules that Aziraphale held back?

Crowley had no answers. She only had the neverending questions, accompanied by hopes that she did not dare to speak out.

Aziraphale picked up the pickaxe again, and Crowley shot up to her feet, clapping her hands, shouting _bravo._ Her voice echoed across the valley. Aziraphale looked up to the hillside where she stood and waved a dismissive hand. Crowley could see from his posture that he was embarrassed. It made her smile. 

There was more to Aziraphale than what he gave away, Crowley knew it. She just hadn’t figured out how to reach him without him pulling away. Not yet. But maybe she could at least nudge Aziraphale and help him take the first steps himself.

Because when left to his own devices, Aziraphale did take steps, sure, but to completely unpredictable directions. It got proven that evening by the campfire. _I simply must show you something,_ the angel had said. _You will be amazed._ And Crowley, the fool, had trusted him with her attention. 

“Indescribable. Absolutely unprecedented,” Crowley said afterwards as Aziraphale picked up scattered cards from the ground. They were probably not meant to have fallen there, but the magic trick had been much too confusing for Crowley to know for sure. 

“It always worked when he did it…” Aziraphale muttered and tried to arrange the cards back into a deck. Was it in preparation for another trick? Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale began shuffling the cards with clumsy fingers. 

“Sure, sure. Anyway, have you read anything good lately?” 

“No, I haven’t. There is nothing to read here,” Aziraphale said and kept shuffling. “But there is this other trick I simply must show you, it really is extraordinary, you –”

“Fantastic, I bet,” Crowley said and scavenged her brain in search for any other conversation topic that could distract Aziraphale from committing any more crimes against the universe disguised as magic tricks. “But you know what else is fantastic? _Writing_ books. Didn’t you say someone should write a book about all this? Why don't you?"

That question managed to catch Aziraphale’s attention. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, looking perplexed. “About magic?”

 _“No._ About Klondike. All... this,” Crowley said and gestured vaguely around her. "You _must_ have thought about writing a book at some point.”

The shuffling of the cards slowed down. “In fact I have, yes,” Aziraphale said.

“So what's stopping you?” 

A little pouty frown appeared on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley would have wanted to grab his round cheeks and scrunch up his face further. Aziraphale would have hated that. How soft would those cheeks be? And why had she now sat on a different log than Aziraphale and not right next to him? Truly a wasted opportunity.

“It's not that simple,” Aziraphale said. “I've read so many stories and texts that you'd imagine I could easily write my own ones too. But…”

“Are you scared they won’t be any good?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Could be. But what if they turned out to be excellent instead? It would be very unfair for the humans. I have such a big headstart with gathering material.”

Crowley shook her head. Even though Aziraphale had said it as a joke, it sounded like another one of his excuses. “Humans don't play fair. Why should you?”

“Precisely because I'm not a human. I'm an angel. I'm meant to be fair.”

“Well…” Crowley waved her hand dismissively. "What about always finding last minute tickets for sold out shows? Is that fair, hmm?” 

“Oh hush now, that doesn't count.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I don't have the same kind of imagination that humans have, I'm afraid,” Aziraphale said and looked regretful. His thumb was ruffling the edge of the card deck, over and over again. “I feel like me writing a book would just be combining stories others have already told.” 

“But that's not too different from how humans do it!” Crowley said. Maybe this was one more restriction she could help Aziraphale get rid of. And if she was ever going to read a book, she would like it to be written by Aziraphale. “They grow up soaked in stories. Then it's only a matter of what kind of combination they squeeze out of themselves.”

“If you put it that way…” Aziraphale looked hopeful for a moment, before the pout returned again. “I'm not sure that it would be approved of. I have the bookshop with the excuse of blending into the city, and that lets me, um…” – Aziraphale glanced briefly up in the sky – “to collect the books, but how could I justify being an author?” 

“They don’t care, angel. It’s the Earth. They’ve never cared.”

“Best not, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and smiled sadly. He looked at cards in his hands, sighed and tucked the deck into his pocket. 

Crowley watched the cards disappear but didn’t feel the relief she had been expecting. _Best not._ Best not this, best not that, best not anything _ever._ Did the angel really not realise they did not have all the time in the world? They did not have the time, the _luxury,_ to avoid and postpone endlessly. Being immortal was for forever, but the Earth wasn’t. Aziraphale ought to have known that.

“Do you know about Armageddon?” Crowley asked on an impulse. It was a dangerous territory to talk about. Work secrets, and not only theirs but their superiors’.

Aziraphale startled. “In theory.”

“Do you think we will have to fight each other?” Crowley went straight to the point.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to fight you.” 

“Why not? Wouldn’t that be against the _rules_ _?”_ Crowley asked. She looked at Aziraphale carefully, wanting to catch all the clues about how he really felt. 

Aziraphale’s mouth was a tight line. He picked up a heavy stick and poked the fire with it. A cloud of sparks disappeared into the night sky. “I’m sure it won’t come down to it.” 

“Didn’t think you were such an optimist.”

Aziraphale stabbed the fire. The pile of burning wood collapsed with a loud crackle. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” 

Crowley hissed and pinched her mouth shut. Silence fell over the campfire, and it wasn’t the cozy type they knew how to share. Aziraphale was hunched on his log, poking pointlessly at the fire, and Crowley regarded him from under a furrowed brow.

 _Of course I know yo_ _u,_ she wanted to say. She wanted to say it, and she wanted to believe it too. All Crowley had ever wanted was to know Aziraphale, all of him. But did she know him, really? How could she, when Aziraphale kept things from her?

But Aziraphale couldn’t keep on dodging for forever. Armageddon was looming somewhere in the future. It meant that Earth was a kerosene barrel in a burning house, just waiting to ignite and explode. It meant that this might be the only chance they ever had at being together. 

Thank _somebody_ that Aziraphale had brought her here. 

Crowley got up from her log and sat on the other one next to Aziraphale. She looked at his pouty side profile from a few inches away and waited for a reaction.

Aziraphale glanced at her and startled again, this time about the close proximity. Crowley didn’t budge. She just kept on looking at Aziraphale with a smile growing on her face. Aziraphale glanced at her again, poked the fire and glanced at her yet again. 

“What is it that you want?” he grunted.

“You,” Crowley said. The heavy stick fell from Aziraphale’s hand and another cloud of sparks filled the air. But Aziraphale wasn’t the only one who had gotten startled by what had been said. Crowley took a sharp breath for the shock of it too. 

“What?” Aziraphale squealed, his pitch high. He leaned away from Crowley but looked at her with wide eyes. 

“Mm-hmm,” Crowley said and smiled. Fine, then. She hadn’t planned for this, but what the hell. Kerosene on a burning house. 

Aziraphale looked around, as if to search for someone to help him. There was nobody. It was only Crowley, and she had him pinned with her gaze. And she let that gaze drop down to Aziraphale’s lips. 

“You can’t…” Aziraphale said, his voice weak and distant.

“Sure I can,” Crowley replied, her voice equally quiet. She revelled on the sudden closeness, the shocking intimacy of their shared breath. It was exhilarating, letting her own pretence fall away like that. As if she hadn’t wanted to trace Aziraphale’s lips with her eyes for who knew how long. And all it had taken to happen was for her to sit next to Aziraphale and do it.

But Crowley hadn’t realised it would feel quite like this. This didn’t feel like any general temptation. No, it made her own heart beat loud as well. Just by having Aziraphale this close to her… What would it feel like to actually kiss him?

Without stopping to think, Crowley leaned minutely closer, lips parting, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent while doing so. He smelled like firewood and miracles…

Aziraphale jumped to his feet and was across the campfire before Crowley knew it.

“I’ll just have to… I’ll just…” Aziraphale said and had already disappeared into the woods.

Crowley sat frozen on the spot. The sudden solitude was a shock to her system, an ice bath. She exhaled and blinked slowly, attempting to catalogue the sensations she was experiencing. Disappointment, for sure. But also some triumph. She had gotten a reaction out of Aziraphale. Even if he had ran away, he had obviously felt _something._ And that was better than nothing. 

Anything was better than indifference.

Crowley got up and put the fire out for the night, then walked slowly into the cabin. She changed into a nightgown and went to bed. Hasty, she had been hasty. Aziraphale was slow to turn, and it would take more to convince him than this. She’d need to go slower. But it had been almost a month already, or almost 6000 years, depending on the point of view. Slow had been alright for her too for a long time. But _slow_ might at any point turn into _too late,_ and that was a thought Crowley could not bear to think.

The firelight had looked so beautiful on Aziraphale’s face. It had painted the definition of his lips, stark shadows contrasting their shape. It would have been such a short distance to cross, and at the same time, it was the distance between the stars. 

Crowley stared at the door from her bed in the dark. How slow did Aziraphale need her to go? The door stayed stubbornly closed. Aziraphale could barge through it, like he had barged into Crowley’s suite at Fortuna almost a month ago. That night the angel hadn’t hesitated. He had had an intense look in his eye. He could have that same look tonight. He could barge through the door and he could walk straight towards Crowley’s bed, and…

And…

Crowley didn’t stop her hand. It had sneaked down to pull up the hem of her nightgown. A guard and a prisoner… What was the point of it all if _not_ to take advantage of the situation? 

Aziraphale would never. He was too stuck up with his _rules._

What would it take to get him break them? Just this once. Was it anger, like back in Dawson? Aziraphale would barge in through the door… He would press Crowley down on the bed… he would… he would…

_That’s it, you wiley serpent. I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget._

That’s it. Aziraphale could take everything he wanted and Crowley would let him. She’d offer it eagerly. If Aziraphale just let himself have this, Crowley would give and give and _give._ It had been such a long month. Surely Aziraphale felt the same. He had to feel the same, he _had to._ And they could have this together. Finally, they could have this and so much more. And wasn’t that the dream: to get to witness Aziraphale like that – no, not just that, but to take him apart and be the reason he lost himself, yes, that was all she could ask for – 

Crowley sighed with pleasure as her body tensed. In the darkness of the cabin she could almost hear two sets of heavy breathing, could hear another sigh next to her own. She could almost feel Aziraphale’s weight grounding her to the bed. She would search for his lips to kiss the anger away...

The vision disappeared and Crowley was left alone in the dark. 

* * *

Aziraphale walked around the valley, trying to calm his beating heart. Accusations criss-crossed in his head, together with unnamed emotions he had very carefully not examined closer and was not about to do so now either. 

_You should not have brought Crowley here._

_She’s a demon. You’ve known it all along, and you took the risk anyway._

_It’s your fault. You are a weak angel, too weak to face her temptations._

_You should be better than this._

Aziraphale whimpered and buried his face in his hands. One single word from Crowley and she had gotten fireworks crackling through him. _You,_ Crowley had said. And Aziraphale had felt more alive than ever.

He sat down on a rock for a moment, then instantly got back to his feet and started pacing again. He glanced back towards the cabin, and didn’t see the fire burning anymore. Maybe Crowley had gone to sleep. Or maybe she was lurking somewhere here in the woods, looking for a chance to tackle Aziraphale to the snow. It was a ridiculous thought, and yet Aziraphale hoped it was the case. He began walking to the furthest edge of the valley. Away from Crowley and away from his thoughts. Too bad it was the thoughts that followed him and not Crowley. 

Crowley had sat so close, her sharp features contrasted in the firelight. Her eyes had been golden and dark, and as beautiful as ever. And Aziraphale, coward as he was, had fled. 

Would it really have been so bad to let Crowley take the lead this one time?

Hope, as delicate as the first hint of the dawn, lit somewhere deep in Aziraphale. They were far from the world here. As if it was only the two of us. No Heaven, no Hell, no humans. Crowley could take the lead and Aziraphale could –

Aziraphale realised he had stopped in his tracks. He grunted and tore himself back to motion, tearing down the hopeful thoughts too. It simply could not happen. That much was definitive. He was the reasonable one here, and he would make sure no lines were crossed. 

But would it really be so bad, this one time? 

Aziraphales pacing slowed down and eventually stopped. He could go back to the cabin right now. Surely Crowley wasn’t asleep yet. He could go back to the cabin, go sit by Crowley’s bed, and Crowley would… she would…

It was already dawn when Aziraphale returned to the cabin. He prepared a simple breakfast and did not wake Crowley up. Instead he went quietly back to work, and when Crowley eventually emerged, he only gave her orders for the day’s tasks. 

Crowley was here to work. She had one lesson to learn: the true value of hard work. That would be it.

* * *

Aziraphale realised that a month had passed since he brought Crowley to White Agony Creek. A thin crescent moon was back in the evening sky, like it had been on that very first night they shared. Spring was coming along with full force. But the snow was slow to thaw this far in the North and it still lingered in the woods. Aziraphale had a creeping feeling that he might have to bring Crowley back to Dawson while there was still snow. They could still go with a sled and she would not have to walk.

Yes, that was what they needed to do. Aziraphale could persuade some wolves to pull his bigger sled and they could both ride in it. It might even be fun. 

That settled it. He would take Crowley back to the city tomorrow. 

But when tomorrow came, Aziraphale did nothing. Obviously he could not take Crowley back to the city before arranging a proper farewell supper. That was it. It took a lot of time and effort to arrange such a thing. And after all, spring was slow here in the North. Surely the snow would stay in the woods for a while longer. Maybe tomorrow he’d get around arranging the supper, and then Crowley could go back to Dawson. 

Yes. Definitely tomorrow. 

Now that the days weren’t piercing cold anymore, Crowley sometimes left her fur coat in the cabin and sauntered around the claim obnoxiously in her dress. It was in a laughable contrast with the prospecting work. Aziraphale should have found it off-putting, a show of such vanity. Unfortunately the effect was quite the opposite. He caught himself staring at how the muscles in Crowley’s shoulders worked when she lifted buckets of water to the rockers, and how dirt painted its patterns on her arms when the work got sweaty. It was all very distracting, and surely it also was completely inappropriate. 

On the other hand, Aziraphale was experienced at ignoring these inappropriate thoughts about Crowley. It was nothing new to him. He just never had had to ignore them for quite this long time at one go. It was like a muscle that was now tiring from heavy use.

 _You,_ Crowley had said, and not mentioned it ever since. It was good, of course. Aziraphale desperately needed her to never say such things again. Something sharp and heady lifted its head in Aziraphale whenever the word struck him again. _You._

Crowley had only said it to sharpen her temptation skills, anyway. That had been it. Definitely. It had to have been just that. 

It _had to._ Because if otherwise...

No. Aziraphale could not bear to consider any other options. 

Luckily there were less terminal things to be worried about too, so Aziraphale chose to worry about those. Crowley had said she was proud of him. How bad was it to make a demon proud of him? Did it _necessarily_ mean he had neglected Heaven? Heaven and Crowley, the two opposing forces that dictated the order of his life. Aziraphale could not imagine choosing one over the other. How could he? One of them was the only way of life he had ever known, and the other was what made his life worth living. How lucky was it then that here on White Agony Creek he could have them both? 

And so, when Aziraphale saw Crowley combing her long hair in the evenings by the campfire, he found himself wishing this shared life of theirs would never end. Maybe it didn’t need to be a special occasion, held together by their play pretend of a prisoner and a guardian. Maybe it could be part of their everyday life. Maybe back in London they could –

Aziraphale shook his head and tried to banish the thought, but it had already set its roots in him. Images flickered in his mind. The shared evenings in his bookshop wouldn’t have to be a rarity. It could be part of their everyday life. But surely it would be _completely_ inappropriate. Crowley might entertain the thought just out of demonic mischief, but Aziraphale… Aziraphale felt so tied down sometimes.

“What are you sighing about?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale blinked the thoughts away and looked at Crowley. She was sitting closer to Aziraphale than what he was used to. It was distracting, and still Aziraphale couldn’t even think about moving further away himself. 

Crowley was braiding her hair for the night. Aziraphale would have loved to do it for her.

He shifted on the log and tried to not look guilty. “Um, you know. I have to fix the, um, sluice box soon. Yes. Or we’ll have to start panning the gold again. And you know how cold the water in the creek is.” 

“That was a heavy sigh for a sluice box,” Crowley said and Aziraphale knew he had been caught in a lie. He hadn’t lied though, not exactly. He _did_ have to fix the sluice box. 

“Well,” Aziraphale said and stopped to consider. The last thing he could afford to do was to encourage Crowley. _You,_ she had said. _Move in with me in London,_ he could say in return. 

A sliver of sadness reached him. There was no way he could say anything like that. Here on White Agony Creek he and Crowley could pretend to share a life, but not in the real world. Not in distant London, where people had manners and kept their emotions to themselves.

“It’s not so much about the sluice box itself,” Aziraphale began, not sure where he was going. “It is that I have no other option but to fix it. I couldn’t possibly go about suddenly _not_ fixing sluice boxes and start doing what I… well. Start doing other things.” 

Crowley still stared at him, but it was softer now. “I can fix the blessed box, if it’s such an issue for you.”

“That’s very generous of you. But some day it will break again and you can’t keep on fixing my sluice boxes forever,” Aziraphale said and ran a hand over his face. It wasn’t about the damned sluice box and they both knew it. Surely Crowley knew it too?

“Who cares about a sluice box,” Crowley said, like it solved anything. “And also, I’m not generous.”

“I’m sure you're not, dear,” Aziraphale said and smiled at the piercing look Crowley threw at him. It lacked the sharpest edge, though, and soon turned into a smile that Crowley tried to hide. She undid the half-finished braid and started over.

Heaven would always order Aziraphale around and give him metaphorical sluice boxes to fix. And Aziraphale knew he would not disobey, even if he disagreed. But as long as he had this, as long as he had Crowley in one way or another, everything would surely be fine. They might not ever be able to live together like this again, but they could visit. It was the next best thing. As long as they had each other, everything would be alright.

“You know,” he said eventually, “even though I miss London, I think after this it might feel a bit crowded. And noisy. Especially with those automobiles around. I hope they are passing fancy,” Aziraphale said and noticed he was about to go off on a tangent. He backtracked. “Regardless. I just meant to say… It is nice here.”

He wanted to add: it is nice here _with you._ But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He was poking the ice with a stick already as it was. There was no telling if it would carry him.

Crowley looked back at him. “It is, isn’t it.”

She was unreadable. But this one time Aziraphale allowed himself to think that Crowley had meant the same as he had. Maybe it had been nice for Crowley as well to share the month together. And Crowley smiled, looking at Aziraphale, letting go off her braid and undoing it once more. 

“Let me try that,” Aziraphale said on a whim, and willed himself not to think too deeply about it. It was a _nice_ thing to do. A friendly thing. He got up from the log and went to stand behind Crowley.

“Yeah?” Crowley asked and looked up at Aziraphale over her shoulder. Her bright eyes were wide with surprise, but she let go of her hair anyway. It tumbled down over her back and got caught on the fur of her coat. Aziraphale’s fingers hovered briefly over it before he dared to touch. He ran his fingers through the long locks and made sure there were no tangles. 

“You haven’t had this long hair since the beginning of the Gregorian calendar,” he explained. It came out as a mumble. He was too focused on the hair, and the hair only. 

Crowley’s hair was such a beautiful colour in the light of the fire. Aziraphale braced himself and ran his hands over Crowley’s scalp next. Crowley made a quiet and pleased hum in return. It was a beautiful sound, and Aziraphale responded with the same kind before thinking twice about it. Crowley’s head was heavy in his hands and the hair glided smoothly between his fingers when he gathered it in a neat braid. If his fingers lingered slightly longer than necessary about her neck, Crowley was courteous enough not to mention it. 

Just like this, the two of them sharing a quiet life, Aziraphale felt like he was home again. 

Maybe he would even dare to tell that to Crowley some day. 

Just not quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you in on a secret: I know for a fact that also Aziraphale masturbated in this chapter. He just didn't feel comfortable enough to let me write about it, let alone you witness it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which White Agony Creek gets visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot chickens…
> 
> Cw: one instance of using wrong pronouns for Crowley, a mention of blood, genre-typical violence
> 
> By the way, please let me know if I ever use wrong pronouns by accident in the text. Crowley’s pronouns will change later in the series and because of that it’s hard for me sometimes to notice if I’ve gotten them wrong.
> 
> Also a couple of footnotes ahead!

“Where is demon Crowley?” a loud voice asked.

Tim looked up from his work at Saloon Fortuna’s bar and saw a grubby looking pair standing in the middle of the saloon floor. He recognized the type. Troublemakers. It was best to deal with them immediately.

“Oi! You don’t get to talk about our Cat’s-eye like that. They call her the brightest star of the North, d’you know that?” 

The strangers turned to look at Tim. As they approached him, he suddenly wished he would have stayed in bed that morning. There was something very unpleasant about the pair. However, when he later tried to explain his flatmate[1] why this had been the case, he found out he couldn’t quite remember why. The detail of their faces had escaped from his memory.

“Did you hear what this human said, Hastur?” said one of the strangers. As far as Tim was able to later recall, he might have had a dark complexion. 

“It has information about Crowley, Ligur," replied the one called Hastur. Tim had a vague recollection that he had been sickly pale.

Dread crept up Tim’s spine. He straightened his back anyway. Nobody was going to mess with Cat’s-eye Crowley’s saloon while Cat’s-eye herself was gone. “Why are you asking after her?”

“We should make it tell us where Crowley is, Hastur," Ligur said.

“Are you newcomers?” Tim asked. The notorious brawl had been all the city talked about some weeks ago. Or had it already been a month? Poor Cat’s-eye, lost in the wild for a whole month already. The saloon was not the same without her.

“Tell us here he is, worm," Ligur said.

That was when the pair lost their last trace of respect in Tim’s eyes.  _ “She  _ was captured by that graceless brute and dragged into God knows where. Somewhere in the wilderness. Nobody knows where the man’s claim is," Tim said and wasn’t quite sure why he had just volunteered so much information to strangers with obviously malicious intent. The words had just emerged out of his mouth, without bothering to ask his permission first. 

“Is that so," said Hastur. 

“Who is this...  _ brute _ you are talking about," Ligur demanded.

“They call him Mr. Fell. Or “Knockout”, these days. Dangerous man, built like an ox. You can’t mistake that curly head for anybody else. He might look even angelic if you didn’t know his character. I have the pleasure of not knowing him very well," Tim continued and was very concerned about the words spilling out of him. He shut his mouth and busied himself by vigorously polishing a glass that didn’t need polishing. 

“Angelic, you say?” Ligur said. His gaze was piercing through Tim.

Tim nodded, not daring to open his mouth anymore. He sighed with relief when the grubby pair turned their eyes away from him and made their way out of Saloon Fortuna, never to be seen again. 

* * *

“Psst! Miss Crowley!” 

Crowley looked up from her work. She had been tending the soil at the side of the cabin closest to the glacier. Three pristine looking human men were beckoning to her behind a boulder. The oldest of them, one with a grand moustache, spoke with a gravelly voice.

“We are here to rescue you. Follow us now and there don’t need to be a bloodshed!”

Crowley straightened up with a sigh, leaned on her hoe and assessed the situation. The men glanced around nervously and kept on beckoning. What a dull looking trio, she thought, and decided to not be rescued today. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley shouted over her shoulder. A strand of hair fell over her face from her braid. She blew it away.

“No, no, no, Miss!” the old man with a moustache growled. 

“What are you doing? Keep quiet!” said another man, one with a sleek hairdo. The amount of products in his hair would have been able to sustain a whole barbershop.

The youngest looking one of the three men remained silent. He was wearing a silly little cap that he kept nervously adjusting.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale shouted somewhere from the other side of the cabin.

“I need some guardianship,” Crowley shouted back.

The men kept on shushing Crowley. The sleek looking one tried surging forward, maybe to grab Crowley, but the old man pulled him back to cover when Aziraphale replied.

“Why is that?” Aziraphale’s voice was getting closer, and the look on the men’s faces grew more horrified. Aziraphale sounded worried, and Crowley chastised herself for being so vague. There was no reason to make Aziraphale worry unnecessarily.

“Never mind. Do we have anything to offer with coffee?” Crowley shouted.

Aziraphale appeared from behind the cabin. His worried face brightened when he saw the intruders were just humans. “Visitors! How delightful!”

The men watched in horror as the most notorious and feared thug of the Yukon territory approached them with a jolly smile on his face. Crowley leaned on her hoe and watched the scene unfold with delight. 

“Hello there, my dear fellows. Welcome to White Agony Creek!” Aziraphale greeted the group. “I’m quite impressed you’ve made your way all the way up here. The path really is something treacherous. May I interest you in coffee? I’m afraid we don’t have much to offer with it, but I’m sure we’ll find something.” 

The men were frozen on the spot, as if waiting for Aziraphale to pick up the boulder next to them and crush them with it. Crowley knew very well he would have had the strength do just so. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice the strained silence. “Crowley dear, would you be so kind and light the fire? You are always so handy with it. I’ll fetch the coffee.”

* * *

Jack sat on a log by the campfire, cradling a wooden coffee cup in his cold hands. Next to him sat the two more senior members of their rescue party. They were the ones meant to do the actual rescuing, while Jack was only there to document their brave adventure. It didn’t seem like much heroics were going to happen, though. But that didn’t mean that Jack didn’t have a story in his hands. Maybe some newspaper would buy it from him, even if the rescue mission failed.

On the opposite side of the fire sat the suspiciously jolly looking thug, Mr. Fell, and the True Star of The North, Miss Crowley. Or, as the city called them: Knockout Fell and Cat’s-eye Crowley. Proper nicknames that would look good in the paper as well. Jack could see the headlines forming already.

“My dear fellows, I don’t see why you should be quite so nervous," said Knockout Fell. He poked the fire with a stick and Jack tried not to flinch. He reached up and adjusted his cap instead. “We’ve done nothing to threaten you, have we, dear?”

Knockout addressed the question to his prisoner. Cat’s-eye Crowley shook her head and seemed indifferent. She was cradling a coffee cup of her own, eyes hidden behind the famous tinted glasses. The story went that a pet cougar had scratched her eye out and blinded it. Jack tried not to stare but caught himself trying to find an edge of a scar anyway. 

“Whatever even brings you all the way up here?” Knockout Fell continued. “We never get visitors.”

Jack glanced at his fellow travellers. They looked equally puzzled as he felt himself. The leader of the troop, old Smoked-Ham Sam, dared to open his mouth. 

“Isn’t it… obvious?” Smoked-Ham Sam said behind his walrus moustache.

“I’m afraid not. Although, it is probably my fault," Knockout Fell said and chuckled a gay little laugh. It didn’t fit his reputation at all. In fact, nothing about him fit his reputation. “I can be quite slow with the intake sometimes. I’m terribly sorry.”

Jack looked at his party members again. He was not imagining this. Both Smoked-Ham Sam and Shimmer Jones were equally confused too.

“Is there something the matter?” Knockout asked, his voice full of hearty concern. The cordiality of the bloodthirsty villain was something truly disconcerting. Had the whole Dawson city somehow misread the situation? It was simply not possible.

“We – we – we are here to set free your... prisoner? From your – your… tyranny?“ usually so suave Shimmer Jones stammered. Jack supposed he had tried to aim for an assertive tone, but it completely fell apart in front of the compassionate presence of Mr. Knockout. Also, it was hard to be threatening when they were drinking the best coffee Jack ever remembered tasting.

“Oh dear," Knockout said. “Is that how the city talks about this?”

Jack nodded with the other two men. At least this they all were sure about.

The murderous scoundrel looked at his prisoner, the Ice Queen of Dawson. She shrugged and didn’t seem surprised. Jack could have sworn Cat’s-eye Crowley looked even amused, if only that hadn’t been such a completely inappropriate reaction for not having been rescued already. It must have been the tinted glasses that gave him such a wrong impression. 

Mr. Knockout, however, seemed concerned. “What is it exactly that is being said?” he asked carefully.

Jack looked at the other men and saw them both staring at him now. After a short staring contest he gave up. He adjusted his cap to buy himself a moment to think and then cleared his throat.

“It is said that a… um. A maniac, sorry, sir, went on a rampage and, um, single-handedly defeated a saloon full of crooks who were armed to their teeth. Sir. Then he dragged the True Star of the North, Miss, if I may say so, to the wilderness, to… er, have his way with her. Excuse me, Miss. There have been rescue parties sent to search you, Miss, for the whole month, but they have all returned empty handed, if at all," Jack said and cleared his throat again. He glanced up at Cat’s-eye Crowley to see if he had said anything too inappropriate. She did not pay any attention to him. Instead she was looking at her captor. 

“Oh. Oh dear. Dearie me," Mr. Knockout-or-maybe-not Fell said, staring at the fire. 

Jack examined the unlikely pair in front of them. The supposed maniac seemed awfully remorsed, while the Shining Northern Star looked… very amused. There was no doubt about it now. Something about this situation was amusing to her. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Miss…” he began carefully.

Cat’s-eye turned to look at him. “Go ahead.”

“Don’t you want to be… rescued?” Jack asked.

“I don’t think that’s the right question, laddie.”

“What would be the right question, Miss?”

Cat’s-eye’s eyebrows rose high above the golden rim of her glasses. There was still no sign of a scar. Jack felt his cheeks growing hot. 

“That, for example, was an excellent question," she said. She was spinning a strand of hair around her finger. “But you shouldn’t ask me. I’m the unfortunate prisoner here, after all. Isn’t it so, Mr. Fell?”

Mr. Fell seemed awfully flattered to be addressed in such a way. He glanced shyly downwards and nodded. And shrugged. And nearly shook his head. Then nodded again.

“Why am I held captive here, again?” Cat’s-eye continued.

Mr. Fell smiled and said primly: “It’s because you need to learn the true value of honest work and stop conning innocent prospectors at that sinful saloon of yours.”

“And how am I doing with that?” 

“You are still equally insufferable as you were on your first day."

“See?” Cat’s-eye spread her hands and looked back at Jack. “I couldn’t possibly be rescued yet. The objective hasn’t been reached.”

There was a certain logic in that. Jack didn’t feel like it was his place to argue against it. 

After they had finished their coffee, the notorious thug made sure they were all well-fed and fully equipped before seeing them safely through the glacier path. The Frosty Flame of Yukon didn’t follow her captor and the party through it. After all, she had the role of an unfortunate prisoner to play. She waved them goodbye from the cabin. Jack waved back and followed the party into the cave. 

Mr. Fell didn’t say anything to acknowledge the horrifying, frozen and hairy ice monster that hid in the tunnel. Jack, Smoked-Ham Sam and Shimmer Jones glanced at each other, but since walking underneath the belly of a gigantic prehistoric creature seemed to be a regular occurrence in Mr. Fell’s imaginative life, none of them felt comfortable mentioning it either.

Jack saw Mr. Fell pat the hairy leg of the long-dead creature somewhat affectionately, though.

Once reaching the other side, the not-famously well-mannered and hospitable scoundrel left Jack, Smoked-Ham Sam and Shimmer Jones to their sled after shaking their hands, and went back to his claim through the glacier. 

Jack looked at the other two men. 

“What on earth are we going to say when we reach Dawson?” Shimmer Jones asked and produced a comb out of nowhere. He slicked back down his hair which had gotten disheveled out of shear bewilderment. 

“No-one’s ever going to believe us," Jack said.

“No-one will ever know about this. Do you hear me?  _ No-one,"  _ Smoked-Ham Sam growled and his moustache trembled as he huffed. “I will not be called a lunatic for the rest of my days because a story like this gets out.”

Jack sighed. There went his hope of selling the story for a newspaper.

They finished packing their sled and fed the dogs. They were ready to travel back to Dawson. Except for...

“Shouldn’t we wait for our… local guides?” Jack asked. 

“I vote, we just go. I didn’t believe for a second they were locals," Shimmer Jones said and hopped in the sled. “Did you see how they fumbled about the sleigh dogs? Even I had better luck with the dogs than the two of them.”

“We leave without them," Smoked-Ham Sam announced. “The dogs didn’t trust them, and if a dog doesn’t trust someone, neither do I. They were an extraordinarily unpleasant pair.” 

Jack’s hand flew up to hold his cap as the sled nudged to motion. He turned on his seat and watched as the glacier slowly disappeared between the evergreen trees. “Funny thing, that, actually. I can’t seem to remember what was it  _ exactly _ that made them so unpleasant...”

* * *

Crowley folded her glasses and put them into her coat pocket as she watched Aziraphale guide the three men away from White Agony Creek. It would have been fun to follow and hear what the humans said about the mummified mammoth, but it was best this way. She hadn’t admitted it to Aziraphale, but the the mammoth had been almost a good joke on Heaven’s part. A good old-fashioned monster scare to keep the humans away.[2]

The party disappeared into the cave and Crowley turned to go to the cabin. It had been refreshing to poke a bit of fun at the humans. And it had been domestic, in a way. She and Aziraphale, brewing extraordinarily good coffee for some strangers, and not quite bothering to pretend she was here against her will. As if Aziraphale had agreed to be on the same side with her, for once. And what a nice feeling that was. Nice and utopic.

A strand of hair fell to Crowley’s face again. Grudgingly she reached over to release the braid. It was long due redoing it anyway. But this braid had been done by Aziraphale, and  _ that  _ had been something special. Maybe if she left her hair open Aziraphale would offer to do it again. Crowley could spend the rest of her days just getting her hair braided by Aziraphale. That she had known the moment Aziraphale had sunk his gentle fingers to her scalp. 

Running her fingers through her hair, combing it open and lost in thought, she reached the cabin and went inside.

“Demon Crowley," said Ligur’s voice.

Crowley jumped and tried to play it as if she hadn’t. There in the cabin were the last two beings she ever would have wanted to see there: Ligur at the table and Hastur on her bed. “What are  _ you _ doing here?” 

Ligur didn’t flinch at her accusing tone. Both him and his chameleon regarded her calmly, the chameleon matching to the poisonous orange tint of his eyes. “No, demon Crowley. What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Keep it down! You're ruining my… mission," Crowley said and tried to gather her thoughts over the sound of her heart flapping like a trapped bird in her chest. Ligur and Hastur were here, on Aziraphale’s claim. Did they know Crowley was here with Aziraphale? They must have seen him. How much had they seen? Too much?

“This isn’t part of your assignment, Crowley," Ligur continued with a level voice.

“No, it’s not, this is… a bit of a personal project," Crowley said. Nonchalance, that was what she needed. But how to be nonchalant when the rest of her existence was about to go extinct? What was nonchalance? Normalcy? What was normalcy in the face of annihilation?

Crowley shook the fur coat off her shoulders and set it on a hook beside the door. A perfectly normal thing that she had just managed to do without fumbling. Perfect. What next? The gaze of the other demons burnt Crowley’s now bare shoulders as she went to fetch the comb from one of Aziraphale’s shelves. Combing her hair, that was ordinary. The familiar movement grounded her a little even when everything was about to blow up.

“What are you saying, Crowley?” Ligur asked.

“Well, it got very boring in Dawson City, so I though, why not try tempting an angel," Crowley said and shrugged, like it was something she got around doing every other week. “Don’t you ever feel up for a challenge?”

“We heard the angel stole you, Crowley," Ligur continued with the same level but menacing tone. The repeating of her name started to get on Crowley’s nerves. Ligur had no business acting like he owned her name.

“Well... That’s an exaggeration," Crowley said. It was. She would not have come here if she hadn’t wanted to. But the real reason for why she was here willingly was not for Ligur and Hastur to know. She focused on a tangle and eased the comb through.

“The whole Dawson city talks about you, Crowley. You’re famous," Ligur said.

“How does it feel to be famous, Crowley?” Hastur pitched in from behind Ligur. The pale light from the window made his sickly white skin glow in the darkness of the cabin. 

“Uh, it’s, part of the job, really," Crowley said. Did Ligur and Hastur see right through her already? It was not an option to show any sign of weakness now. The other demons would latch onto it immediately. 

“Is it true he took you, Crowley? Are you under his holy angel thumb?” Ligur asked.

“Are you his little maiden, Crowley?” Hastur supplied.

“Okay, listen up.” Crowley said and pointed at them with the comb. “Don’t you see I’m onto something extraordinary here? The angel nearly trusts me already, and I’m so close to cracking him. Isn’t that quite the demonic feat?”

“This isn’t part of your assignment, Crowley," Ligur said.

“Yes, I know, you already said that." A bead of sweat trickled down from Crowley’s armpit down her side for a couple of inches before it got absorbed in her dress. 

“We need to take you back to Dawson City, Crowley," Ligur said. 

“Back to that little restaurant of yours, Crowley," Hastur added. 

“Great, let’s go to Dawson." Crowley shrugged and returned to combing. The fear mixed with the first hint of relief. Maybe they had bought her story. “Let me just pack up and –” 

“The angel is approaching," Hastur said, looking out the window, and Crowley froze with the comb in the middle of her long hair.

“We’ll take him by surprise." Ligur got up from the table, and gestured for Hastur to get up as well. They went to stand on each side of the doorframe, hidden from view to whoever walked in from the door. Crowley stood by the open door, perfectly framed so that Aziraphale would see only her inside the cabin. 

Crowley turned slowly and glanced out. Aziraphale was walking up the hill, closer to the cabin already than she had hoped for. It would only take him moments to reach it. 

Crowley’s hand began the motions of combing again, but she wasn’t the one doing it. She was instead going through all scenarios that might follow. Every single one of them was a train-wreck waiting to happen. Aziraphale was too clever to walk into a trap of those two buffoons. He would notice something was off any second now, and he would not sway from his angelic duty, not even if it meant facing two hostile demons head on. A full-on confrontation was surely to erupt. Who was left standing afterwards, there was no way to tell. 

The comb glided through Crowley’s hair, beginning to crackle with static electricity. Only a dozen steps left before Aziraphale would reach the door.

Could Aziraphale take down both Ligur and Hastur? Probably not alone. Crowley could not help him without compromising her own position. And even if Crowley pretended to fight Aziraphale, the other demons might realize she had certain… liabilities. 

Aziraphale was a couple of steps away from the door now, and a frown was forming on his face. He knew something was off.

The comb came to a stop as the last strands of Crowley’s hair were untangled. At the same time a thought hit her. 

There would be no confrontation if Aziraphale was taken out of the equation. And while Ligur and Hastur would not be able to take him by surprise, Crowley was pretty sure she could. 

Crowley made a decision. 

She pulled Aziraphale from his lapels through the door and crashed their lips together. Crowley kissed Aziraphale forcefully and took advantage of it. She opened her mouth and tasted all she could, because  _ right now _ she had to step back, away from Aziraphale and hold him at an arm’s length just inside the cabin...

“Crowley –," Aziraphale gasped, but was interrupted by his own heavy shovel, swung by Hastur. It met the back of Aziraphale’s head with a clang well done. Aziraphale’s corporation took the hint and decided it had had enough for the day. It went right to sleep. 

“A very creative distraction tactic, demon Crowley. Temptation, eh?" Ligur said when he stepped out from the shadow behind the door. Hastur stood on the other side with Aziraphale’s shovel in hand. It had a smudge of blood on it.

Crowley didn’t respond. She was swaying on spot and trying to get access to whatever part of his brain controlled speech. Somewhere in the distance she heard a click when the comb fell from her hand and hit the wooden floor. 

“Crowley?” Ligur asked.

Crowley snapped herself out of it. “Distraction? Yes, right, uh, it’s because angels are so… unaccustomed to, um, pleasures of the flesh, it makes them… easily overwhelmed. That’s why I thought it might… work.” 

“It worked. Now what kind of fun should we have with him?” Ligur said and reached down towards unconscious Aziraphale. 

“No!” Crowley yelped. Ligur and Hastur looked up at her with frowns on their faces. “You… you don’t want to actually touch him. When he’s unconscious, I mean. It might alert his headquarters. Happened to me once. Had to flee. Nasty business. Place swarming with angels in an instant.” Crowley shut her mouth before she made up something she regretted.

“Is that so," Ligur said and looked back down at unconscious Aziraphale with some twisted version of longing in his eyes. Crowley held her breath. Ligur’s fingers twitched, still reaching towards Aziraphale. If he laid his fingers on her angel… 

Ligur straightened up. “This does  _ not  _ mean that we trust you, demon Crowley.”

Crowley relaxed her hands from fists. “Of course, of course, I would never expect you to.”

“Fine. We leave him as he is. It’s punishment enough that we steal his prisoner back. Take that, Heaven!” Ligur shouted towards the ceiling and made all the rude gestures he knew. It took a while. Hastur watched his partner in silent admiration and Crowley took her chance to discreetly glance over to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was breathing. There was blood on the doorstep under his head but Aziraphale could handle it. His corporation was alive and he would recover, if only with a terrible head-ache.

The relief was minor. Aziraphale was safely out of the equation, but the danger was not over. Next Crowley needed to get the other demons as far from White Agony Creek as possible. 

“Dawson, then?” Crowley asked, trying not to sound like she was in a hurry. 

Ligur took his time finishing his celebration. “We return to the damned city. A great place.” He looked at Aziraphale longingly for one last time before stepping over him and out of the cabin. “What a waste.”

Hastur followed him. “We could still burn the house.”

Ligur turned around. Crowley could have sworn the orange of his eyes already flashed with flames. “Hastur. That is a  _ brilliantly bad  _ idea _ –” _

“And  _ I  _ have even a worse one!” Crowley exclaimed. 

Both of the other demons turned to look at him. Crowley stared squarely back and racked her brain to make up something that didn’t involve destroying the only home she and Aziraphale had ever shared. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

The staring continued. 

“The cabin has to stay. Because… because it’s the  _ claim  _ that counts. As a whole. So, what we really need is…” Crowley disappeared briefly through the shed door and came back with Aziraphale’s strongbox, “...the deed to his claim!”

Ligur and Hastur glanced at each other. “And  _ then  _ we burn the cabin?” Hastur asked. 

“No, see. The claim as a  _ whole. _ ” Crowley stepped over unconscious Aziraphale and ushered the other demons away from the cabin and towards Aziraphale’s sled. “You have to think like a prospector, here. Knowing that someone else owns the place is much more tormenting than seeing it destroyed. He'd rather burn it himself than see the deed gone.” Crowley cursed the nonsense that was spilling out of her mouth. The cabin, the valley, the life they had built together over the course of the month, it all could be wiped away because of one wrong word. 

Ligur groaned. “I can’t stand this modern garbage.”

“Too bad. That’s what works these days. Greed, the modern sin!”

“Is there really  _ nothing  _ we can burn?” Hastur asked. 

“Yeah, sure. Melt the permafrost. Horrible for nature.” 

“Perfect.”

Hastur got to work. Ligur still eyed Crowley suspiciously. “I don’t see what’s so bad about tradition.”

Crowley shrugged. “Welcome to Earth.”

While Hastur helped Aziraphale with one of the toughest parts of the prospecting work, Crowley went to sit in the bigger sled. Ligur summoned Hellhounds to pull it. The dogs did not seem comfortable with the bright and especially  _ cold  _ substance surrounding them. Still, once Hastur was done thawing the ground and they all sat in the sled, they did get the ensemble moving. Soon they were past the glacier and travelling alongside the Klondike River towards Dawson. 

Once the ridge of the glacier was disappearing behind the trees, Crowley allowed herself to feel an ounce of real relief. She had gotten the demons out of White Agony Creek. Aziraphale was safe. The demons were still here, and she wasn’t sure what awaited her in Dawson, but at least Aziraphale was safe. 

And as the fear of eternal torment faded, Aziraphale’s strongbox grew heavier on Crowley’s lap. Crowley stared at it with bewilderment. It wasn’t as if she had really planned for stealing it. And she would return it to Aziraphale afterwards, of course. She could say she had had no choice but to take it. But now that she had the box… Her fingers found the latch and tried it. It wasn’t even locked.

Crowley had opened the lid ajar before she realised what she was doing. She closed it quickly. The box was cold and accusing on her lap. Aziraphale had  _ specifically _ asked her not to go poking into it. Whatever was in the box, whatever Aziraphale had been smiling so fondly at that one night, it would be better to let Aziraphale tell her about it in his own time. He might, some day. He had already begun to open up a bit during the past month. If Crowley just was patient, she would find out the contents sooner or later. 

Patience. That was what she needed right now. Crowley set the strongbox aside. 

The landscape flew past, uneventful, and very, very boring. And it would have been just fine, if it hadn’t been for that gentle smile of Aziraphale’s that had returned to pester her. That smile, targeted at the letter in that very box...

Aziraphale was too good at being an angel, Crowley thought, and picked up the strongbox again. Making a demon feel guilty about prying? Exquisite work. 

Crowley opened the box. 

It was full of papers, with some gold nuggets and inconsequential personal items scattered at the bottom. Oh, and Aziraphale’s ring was there too. The topmost of the papers was the deed to the claim. But the paper type was different than the one Crowley had seen Aziraphale smile at. That made sense. As far as Crowley knew, Aziraphale held no possessive feelings towards the claim, not like he did with his bookshop back in London. This had been just an assignment, and nothing personal. 

Next up where some letters – most of them were from her, Crowley noted with surprise. Really old ones too. Wasn’t it quite risky to keep them around? Touching, for sure, but the letters weren’t the paper Crowley was after either. 

She knew the right one instantly when she saw it. A heavy, yellowed parchment folded in three was the last paper in the box, hidden underneath all others. Crowley picked it up carefully and put the other papers back. Setting aside any guilt, she chose to revel in the sensation of invading Aziraphale’s privacy. Crowley knew she wasn’t very good at her job, not for the most part, but there were some sins she really did enjoy indulging in. Prying and sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong was definitely one of them. And this, getting to witness a part of Aziraphale that had so far been inaccessible… It was intoxicating.

Crowley opened the folded parchment with anticipation.

There was no writing in it. Instead, hidden inside the folded parchment, was a lock of red hair, tied neatly with a ribbon. Crowley stared at it with a frown. Did Aziraphale have some ridiculous infatuation with a human? Since when was he into that sort of a thing? Who was this clown anyway and how dare –

Crowley’s hand flew to her hair. Her fingers searched and found a strand that was considerably shorter than the rest of it.

She packed the contents of the box away and was very careful to put everything back as it had been. She held the box close to her and watched quietly how the scenery changed around her. The beauty of it was lost to her. Ligur and Hastur bickered in front of her, but she did not hear it. The cold wind in her openly flowing hair and her own loud heartbeat were the only sounds Crowley heard. 

* * *

  1. The rental prices in Dawson must have been outrageous, because even with Crowley’s surprisingly generous salary, Tim and his lumberjack flatmate hadn’t been able to afford a second bed. Their plan was probably to save the amount from the heating expenses, considering how carefully the two men shared each other’s body heat during the nights. [ return to text ]
  2. Knowing humans, though, it would be sooner rather than later that someone poked their nose in the cave just because there was rumoured to be a monster in there. It is also worth noting that mammoths are not in fact made up, unlike so many other things paleontologists concern themselves with. They were hanging around for the first couple of thousand years after the Earth’s creation, until humans became a bit too handy with sharp sticks. Mammoths, that is, not paleontologists. Paleontologists are unfortunately still hanging around, and no-one is chasing them around with sharp sticks. As of _yet._ [ return to text ]




	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a new plan is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a brief occurrence of animal abuse. I assure you all the hounds survive, join a pack of wolfs and live happily ever after in the woods.

Aziraphale woke up slowly. His head felt like it was double its usual size and filled with hot embers. He reached to touch the back of his head and found his fingers slick with blood. On an instinct he miracled the injury to heal and the pain faded.

As the pain subsided, a memory hit him with the same subtlety as that unknown blunt object had before. 

_ Crowley. _

Crowley had  _ kissed _ him.

And now he woke up, laying on his doorstep, the back of his head covered in blood.

Aziraphale saw Crowley’s comb on the floor by his feet. He blinked slowly at the sight of it and tried to reorient himself. What had happened? He picked the comb up from the floor and examined it as if it could tell him what he was missing.

Right before the kiss, Crowley had looked scared and then determined. And the kiss… It had been determined too. Determined, and even desperate. The hotness of Crowley's mouth against his own, the feel of her tongue in Aziraphale’s mouth… Aziraphale stared blankly at the comb as the memory consumed him. It burned. Crowley had pulled away so quickly, before Aziraphale had properly had time to respond. And the look on Crowley’s face afterwards – had she looked sorry?

Aziraphale felt nauseous. He didn’t want Crowley to look  _ sorry  _ of all things after kissing him. Quite the opposite, really… But that was beside the point. Why sorry? What was there to be sorry for?

Finally it dawned on him. It wasn’t Crowley who had knocked his body unconscious. But who then? Humans? No, Crowley wouldn’t let any humans do that to him. It must have been some of Crowley’s demon friends. And what had Crowley said during the early days?  _ If Hell ever finds out I’m here, I’ll just pretend I’ve seduced you. _

Of course. It had all been a part of a scheme to convince the demons. Finding out the explanation cleared the confusion from Aziraphale’s mind and he sighed with sad relief. If the revelation made a dull ache throb within him too, he ignored it for now. 

But Crowley was nowhere to be seen now. Did it mean… Did it mean Crowley’s plan had failed? If the demons didn’t believe Crowley had successfully tempted him...

It meant the demons had taken Crowley with them. 

Aziraphale sprinted to his feet so fast he got light-headed and the comb fell back to the floor from his hands. Was it too late? Had Crowley been dragged to Hell already and destroyed forever? Aziraphale sharpened his senses and tried to figure out if Crowley was still nearby. He wasn’t sure if he knew how the world would feel like if Crowley wasn’t in it, but he was convinced he would notice the difference. Hadn’t he used to be able to sense Crowley when the Earth had been brand new? Like a warning sign that told him not to approach? When had that sensation disappeared?

The world felt the same as it had always been. In that case, maybe the demons were taking Crowley to her post in Dawson first, to the duties Crowley had abandoned a month ago. Abandoned because Aziraphale had taken her with him.

This was all his fault, wasn’t it? If Crowley was doomed because of him, he could never ever forgive himself. He had been so foolish to risk both of them this way. Never again, he decided. If he ever had another chance, that is. After this it would always be Crowley’s safety first. None of this foolishness of his. 

Aziraphale grabbed his axe with him when he rushed out of the cabin and towards the pathway through the glacier. He sent a prayer to Heaven, not to his supervisors, but straight to God. He prayed for Her to bless his axe. After the prayer he poured all the blessings he could on the axe too. If he were to face two demons head on to save Crowley, he would need all the aid he could get. A blessed axe might not be an equal to a flaming sword, but he had to make a do. 

How much head start had the demons got? The damned creatures had taken his sled. Aziraphale sent a quick miracle toward some of his animal friends. He would be needing a lift.

* * *

The demonic sleigh ride wasn’t going smoothly. 

The Hell hounds had refused to cooperate with the annoying bipeds and instead found strength in numbers and revolted after some miles. Crowley stood next to the upturned sled with the strongbox held against her chest. She watched as Ligur and Hastur tried to catch the hounds, who were high with their newly found freedom. Hastur ran far into the woods after one fugitive and Ligur managed to drag another one back to the sleigh. 

“Don’t just stand there! Go after the beasts!” he growled at Crowley. 

Crowley sighed and followed one set of paw prints to the woods. She would walk in the woods for a while, she decided, and then return empty handed and say the hound got away. She was not about to make this her problem. Ligur and Hastur could run around the snowy woods all they wanted, but she was not going to get out of breath over this.

All her departures were so hurried these days. This time Crowley hadn’t even grabbed the fur coat with her, and the cold wind of the spring got to her bare arms. The weather seemed colder today than it had been for some time now. The partly thawed snow crunched under her feet, frozen again. Crowley cursed and the air around her decided to be a bit warmer. 

The sound of running water guided Crowley to an icy stream. The thick ice blankets of the winter had finally broken apart, and large rafts of ice floated down with the current. She sat down on the cold brink of the stream and cradled the strongbox in her arms. 

It had been a month of circling around each other at Aziraphale’s claim. A month of playing a part, pretending they were a captive and a captor. Sometimes they had been like human children, not quite able to tell the play apart from reality. And now it was over and everything had gone south. Their first kiss shouldn’t have happened like that, Crowley thought with a pang of regret. Not dishonestly, not as a part of a scheme, and not watched by outsiders. Maybe being watched had been the worst part of it. But it had happened that way anyway, and there was no changing it now. 

Crowley’s throat felt tight. She stroked the smooth and cold metal surface of the strongbox and thought about its contents, which Aziraphale had hidden from her. Aziraphale hid so much from her. But even if he had hid it, it must have meant that he did care, didn’t it? Keeping a lock of someone’s hair had a  _ meaning,  _ for Satan’s sake. 

Strongbox wasn’t exactly a locket, but it was a metal container nevertheless. Surely the difference wasn’t too glaring. 

And somehow it seemed fitting that Aziraphale would have chosen a strongbox of all things. 

* * *

On the clearing by the sled, Ligur cursed so dedicatedly that snowy clouds started gathering over the area. If he had been capable of gratitude, he would have been immensely grateful about the fact that his job didn’t require him to come to this miserable world often. Now instead of gratitude he felt wicked joy when he thought about how Crowley must be suffering, having been stranded on this world for so long and with no end in sight. If it was up to Ligur, Crowley would stay on Earth forever. 

One hound had been strapped back in front of the sled now, but Ligur continued to fiddle with the harness to make sure the lousy creature couldn’t escape. The quicker they got the assignment done and could return back to the warmth of Hell, the better. The cold was getting to his nerves and his chameleon was suspiciously still on his head. No wonder the hounds had revolted. 

He felt a sudden and concerning emotion directed towards the beasts. He didn’t recognise the feeling. It felt as if he understood the hounds, but not by words, because hounds could not speak, but by their feelings. He was probably getting sick. And that was the fault of this lousy world too. 

And what was it with the world being all sharp all of a sudden? Hell never got to his nerves like this.

A distant rumbling alerted Ligur from trying to secure the harness. He stood up. Something big was moving through the forest. Maybe this world could at least offer him a good fight to sooth his nerves. 

The earth began to shake underneath his feet. Whatever was approaching, was not only big but also approaching fast. Ligur looked around him in the clearing. No sight of the other demons. Well, more glory to him.

Any dreams of glory were interrupted when all too soon a gigantic creature with antlers bigger than Ligur himself tore through the undergrowth in between the tall trees and trampled straight towards him. It was accompanied by a strong and very earthly stench that hit Ligur’s nose like a fist. And riding high on the creatures back was that angel, radiating celestial fury and brandishing a horrifying blade. 

Ligur staggered backwards and stumbled into the reigns of the one and only hound he had managed to capture. He fell down on the snow. The hound yelped and squirmed free from the shackles of slavery once more. 

The angel was at him before he recovered from the fall.

* * *

The first thing Aziraphale saw when he got to the clearing was the sled turned upside down. Had there been a fight? Had Crowley managed to escape? 

There was only one demon in sight. He was currently tripping over the harnesses of a poor dog who had been strapped in front of the sled all wrong. A sliver of angelic empathy gave the harness a nudge to loosen up and the dog wiggled itself free. 

Aziraphale slid down from the back of the moose and blessed him quickly as a thank you. He had helped his mate give birth to twin calves who had been all tangled up inside her last spring. The whole family lived happily in White Agony Creek with him these days. 

Next he turned his attention to the demon on the ground. Aziraphale wasted no time. In a couple of quick strides he reached the demon and pressed the axe close to his throat. 

“Where is –”

“Crowley has it!” the demon yelped as the blade of the axe scratched the skin of his throat. It sizzled and a nasty, oily smoke rose from the touch point. 

“Has what?” Aziraphale asked, momentarily confused.

“The box! With your... deeds in it!” the demon said.

“Right. Yes. The box, of course. The box that I’m after," Aziraphale said and tried to get back on track. Why did Crowley have his strongbox? And most importantly, had she searched its contents? Aziraphale looked at the smoke rising from where the blade of his axe threatened to cut into the demon’s skin. For a moment he imagined how it would feel like to apply more pressure, to slice through the damned skin – 

“Where did Crowley go with my box?” he asked instead. The demon pointed towards the woods, where a trail of footsteps disappeared in the snow between the trees. Aziraphale pushed the demon forcefully to the ground and stepped away from him. “Thank you, my dear boy. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

The demon staggered to get to his feet, but managed to only tangle himself worse in the harnesses. He scrambled to free himself and once he managed to get up, he ran backwards into the woods, hand on his throat. 

“Right, then," Aziraphale muttered to himself, and followed the footsteps that were to lead him to Crowley.

* * *

“Crowley! Good heavens, you’re okay!”

“Aziraphale? Crowley turned around lightning fast when she heard the voice. Aziraphale had just been in her thoughts, and now he was approaching her from the woods with a relieved look on his face. “What in Satan’s name are _you_ doing here?”

Aziraphale stopped a couple of steps away from her and his relieved smile faltered slightly. An obscene, animal smell reached Crowley from where he stood. “Well. Saving you, of course.“

“I don’t need saving!” Crowley stood up from the brink and stared at Aziraphale. “I have everything perfectly under control.”

“You do?” Aziraphale asked. The last bits of relief turned into confusion. 

“They didn’t suspect a thing!” Crowley said. The obscure smell bugged her nose. “I was just following them to Dawson!”

“They – didn’t suspect?”

“Well they  _ do now!”  _ Crowley hissed so that she wouldn’t shout. 

“Oh. Goodness.” Aziraphale said and had the decency to look remorseful.

“This is no good, Aziraphale," Crowley said. It was hard to think clearly. First of all, the weird smell clogged her brain. She wanted to slip her tongue out to taste the air, even though she knew smelling with her tongue didn’t work in her human form. Secondly, and this was a very insistent little thought that kept nagging her head: this was the first time he saw Aziraphale since she had kissed him. How was she supposed to feel about that?

Aziraphale shifted on his feet. “Um. Actually.”

“What is it?” Crowley snapped. Her eyes kept drifting down at Aziraphale’s lips. What had Aziraphale thought about the kiss? Had he liked it? He hadn’t even had time to kiss her back. Such a  _ waste. _

“They might not know I'm rescuing you. I think they are under the impression that I’m after that box," Aziraphale said and pointed at the strongbox Crowley was holding. “Which you took. For whatever reason.”

“Uh, a long story," Crowley said and practically felt the gears start turning in her head again, despite the insistent thought that kept reminding her of the kiss and the chemical warfare of that unnamed stench. “That’s lucky, though. Right. Excellent. New plan.”

“I’ll just take the box and let you go, then?” Aziraphale suggested. His gaze skittered here and there, not looking at Crowley in the eyes for long.

“No, we can do better than that," Crowley said and looked around to check they were alone. She continued in hushed tones. “Let’s go somewhere they can see us. Then – you’ll smite me and take the box.”

Aziraphale was visibly taken aback by her suggestion. “Wh – wha – what? Actually smite you?”

“Yeah, actually smite-me.”

“You mean,  _ smite-you _ smite-you?”

“Yes! Smite-me-smite-me!” Crowley hissed and stopped herself from smacking Aziraphale with the strongbox. “What other type of smiting have you got?”

“But – it would hurt you! Out of the question!” Aziraphale said and looked pained even just thinking about the possibility. It might have been touching at any other circumstances, but now was not the time. They were not safe. 

“No, no, no, I can take it!” Crowley said. “Just think about it. We’d get Hell off our trail at least for a century! And you could tell Heaven that you defeated your adversary.”

“But what happens after?” Aziraphale asked. “Won’t they come help you? You're their kind!”

“Help me? Ligur and Hastur? Have you met them?”

“Only of them, just now –”

_ "What I mean is, _ they’ll just be happy to see me suffer.”

“Crowley…”

“Come on, angel. Work with me here," Crowley said softly. “You smite me, then take the box and get far away. I’ll meet with Ligur and Hastur and carry on to Dawson, like I was supposed to.”

“That’s a terrible plan," Aziraphale said and looked up towards the sky. Maybe he searched for answers from the Almighty. But Crowley knew there would be no answers from Her.

“It’s your fault, really," she quipped as her last resort. “You messed up my perfectly fine original plan.”

It was the guilt-tripping that finally got Aziraphale on board. “Well, alright. Fine. We’ll do it," he said grudgingly. “But I’ll only smite you a little. You’ll have to act like it hurts more than it actually does.”

Crowley smiled. “Not a problem, angel. I’m a showgirl, remember?”

* * *

“Begone, foul fiend! Hand me the box and surrender thyself!”

Ligur heard the ethereal voice booming through the woods. He nudged at Hastur, who was strangling a rebel hound, and the two of them looked at each other with wicked delight. Crowley had been caught! The temptation to see their colleague hurt won over their self-preservation instinct, and they crawled to the edge of the clearing where a scene unfolded in front of them.

On the other side stood Demon Crowley, who held tightly to the box. 

On the other side stood the angel, radiant wings unfurled and a heavenly light shining from him. A terrifying sight. 

“Was it really that…  _ claim deed _ that pissed him off so much? Must be a very good deed.” said Hastur.

“It’s probably his paperwork in the box as well. I hear Heaven is very particular about paperwork these days," Ligur replied, with the confidence equivalent to a human man who had read one news headline about the topic at hand and was the only representative of his gender in the room.

“Ah, of course. Typical Heaven," Hastur said, foolishly placing all of his trust on his partner.

The angel’s righteous voice rang from the clearing. It had a commanding edge to it that made hairs in Ligur’s neck stand up. “Demon! Hand me the box or I’ll smite you! Consider this your last warning.”

Ligur chuckled at the threat. “See, that’s typical Heaven too. All big words but never any follow up. I bet my chameleon that –" he said but was interrupted when a blast of heavenly light filled the clearing. “Bless me! The angel actually did it! Crowley is smitten!” 

“Are you sure it’s not  _ Crowley is smoten?” _ Hastur asked. “Something sounds weird about saying Crowley is smitten.” 

“Do I look like I care about grammar?” Ligur said. “Grammar is  _ very  _ typical Heaven.” 

Hastur shrugged.[1] “Crowley still has the box.” 

“Not for long. See that blade?” Ligur said gleefully. It was well worth it to screw up their assignment, if it meant seeing Crowley in pain. “Wait till Crowley gets a taste of  _ that. _ It nearly cut right through me and I wasn’t even smitten before it.” 

“Smoten," Hastur corrected, incorrectly. 

Ligur ignored his partner and watched as the angel threatened Crowley with his axe. Crowley had been backed against a tree and the axe hovered over the base of the demon’s throat. If it touched the skin...

Hastur groaned. “It  _ sizzles.” _

“That… that sounded bad," Ligur said and reached up to his own throat, where he could feel the echo of the blessed blade still burning.

“Crowley is done for.”

Ligur grunted in agreement. “The angel is clearly a worse threat than what we counted him for.” Had Crowley lost consciousness at the touch of that blade? It seemed like it, from the way the demon now sagged against the tree.

“Smoten  _ and _ sliced.”

The angel tucked the blade away and dragged Crowley to the center of the clearing, where he lowered Crowley to the ground. Ligur watched him take the box from Crowley’s loosened grip. Then the angel headed to the woods with not a spark of remorse in his whole being. And now that Crowley was out of the game, who knew what the angel thought to do next...

Ligur backed away from their viewpoint. “That’s it, I’m not going to wait around till it’s our turn.”

“Sliced and fried like bacon.”

“Do you hear me? We’re out of here. Crowley get’s to figure this out alone." Ligur said and glanced at the clearing for one last time. “If Crowley will ever figure out anything after  _ that.” _

“Left sizzling like bacon in grease," Hastur concluded.

And with that, they popped themselves away from the Earth’s surface.

* * *

Aziraphale returned to the cabin with his strongbox, like Crowley had instructed him to do. He felt horribly nervous about leaving her to go to Dawson with the other demons. What if they realised it had all been acting? 

Crowley had been terribly convincing, though. The look on her face when Aziraphale threatened her with the axe – it had been something horrible. And the grimace, and seemingly losing all her strength at the touch of the blade… A show girl, indeed. Aziraphale bristled. He never wished to see this particular show again.

He hadn’t meant for the blade to actually touch Crowley’s skin. It had left a nasty red mark after it and it had sizzled with that same oily smoke as it had with Ligur earlier. But Ligur had been fine after it. Surely it would not affect Crowley any differently. 

The overpowering moose smell alerted Aziraphale from his worries as it threatened to take over the cabin. Aziraphale quickly freshened up with a motion of his hand. After a whole smiting, a little miracle here and there couldn’t possibly count. He then dug up a clean set of clothing. The sturdy, clean flannel of his shirt felt good against his skin. 

Wondering whether or not this miracle wouldn’t be noted, Aziraphale decided to prepare a quick memo to send to Heaven. _ Demonic activity nearby… all taken care of now… no need for checking up. _ Hopefully that would keep them from reprimanding his use of miracles. And he definitely didn’t want anyone to come down to Earth and see how he was doing. It would feel all kinds of wrong to see Gabriel at the cabin, which he had already started to think of as his and Crowley’s.

His wandering gaze hit Crowley’s comb that he had dropped on the floor earlier. He picked it up again. 

Crowley had kissed him to convince the demons. It was something that had actually happened. Crowley had  _ actually _ kissed him. Even though Aziraphale knew it had been a ploy, just thinking about it made his belly do something funny. And seeing Crowley there by the stream unharmed, he had been so happy he could have kissed her again. If, of course, the first kiss hadn’t only been a ploy from Crowley’s part. 

And now Crowley was on her way to the city.

The cabin felt suddenly very empty without her. Their time together there had ended so abruptly. Aziraphale had planned the farewell to be something special. They would have foraged all sorts of delicious things from the woods, like the humans did. Maybe they would have miracled something stronger to drink with the food. And after a couple of drinks, Aziraphale might have dared to say how he had enjoyed their time together at his claim.  _ Really _ say it. But no. Here he was, all alone again, with no knowledge of when he might get to see Crowley again. 

Worry kept on nagging Aziraphale. His hand travelled to the strongbox and he caressed the cool surface. Why had the box left the cabin in the first place? With sudden dread, he opened the box and checked all its contents were still there. Everything was exactly how he remembered having left them. 

Habit guided him to take out the folded parchment from the bottom of the box. He opened it and looked at the red lock of hair fondly.

The kiss had been so brief Aziraphale had not had time to react and respond. But he would treasure the memory anyway. Even if it hadn’t been real, even if it had only been part of Crowley’s scheme, it was still a kiss from Crowley. And no matter how he wanted to be the sensible one, Aziraphale couldn’t help but to feel a bit giddy about it. 

* * *

Crowley was cold.

She was so very,  _ very _ cold.

Their plan had worked well. Too well, in fact. Ligur and Hastur had skittered away from the Earth’s surface as soon as they saw Crowley crumble under Aziraphale’s ethereal power. And what power that had been. A terrifying, exhilarating power. It had thrummed through Crowley’s occult core like an electric current. 

Aziraphale had looked out of this world...

Crowley knew she would have been able to take the smiting, no problem. Like Aziraphale had promised, it had only been a little smiting, after all. A baby smite. A smitten. It had only poked a hole in Crowley’s defence. And it would have been fine, it really would. But then Aziraphale had whipped that blasted, holy axe out of his arse. Which had  _ not _ been a part of the plan. 

With her defence weakened, the touch of that blade had dug straight down to Crowley’s immortal, damned soul. 

Crowley laid on the snow on the clearing, exactly as Aziraphale had left her. She watched emotionlessly as the sky got darker and how snow started to fall down between the ancient evergreen trees. It all looked very peaceful. Each snowflake that landed on her stung like a cold needle as they melted on the bare skin of her arms. 

What else was there to do than to enjoy the view? Her demonic colleagues had deserted their duty of seeing her back to Dawson. Aziraphale hadn’t been there anymore to witness their departure. There was no reason for him to come back to the clearing either, because as far as Aziraphale knew, Crowley was on her way to the city. But there was no going to Dawson on her own. Not when she was too weak to even stand up.

The cold was bearing down to Crowley’s very bones. Stupid, she thought, how much she had relied on her demonic powers to keep her warm during the past month. She had stubbornly kept on wearing the dress. It must have been to… prove some kind of point to Aziraphale. It didn’t make any sense now. It was hard to remember. She would have given anything to be dressed in Aziraphale’s sensible clothing now. There was not a single spark of Hell fire left in her to make her feel warm anymore.

Maybe this was it then, Crowley thought. A miserable way to go, really. Accidentally killed by her... friend. It was all her own fault too. She had insisted on going ahead with this stupid plan. Did it count as a suicide, since she had asked Aziraphale to smite her? Suicide by her own stupidity. 

Fitting.

At least she had gotten to know that Aziraphale might… that there might have been a chance for…

The snowy clearing flickered into darkness as Crowley’s eyes closed on their own accord.

The snow flakes didn’t melt anymore when they met with her skin.

* * *

  1. Hastur did, in fact, care deeply about grammar, especially about all the ways in which you can do it wrong. He was not about to mention that to Ligur _now_ , not after being accused of having Heavenly interests. Instead, Hastur made sure to turn in a highly unfavourable report of Ligur's many failures during this assignment. This in turn made Hastur to be in charge of their next shared trip to Earth: the delivery of The Antichrist (the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that... you know the drill). [ return to text ]




	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time has run out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Descriptions of a lifeless body, description of a scar

A flicker in the world yanked Aziraphale from his daydreams. Like a candle light when a storm blasts the door open – something flickered violently, barely recovering. The lock of red hair and the parchment that usually hid it fell from his hands on top of the strongbox, and he was up on his feet and out of the cabin before he knew it. But where to go? What was it even he was after?

Just earlier that day Aziraphale had thought that he had stopped sensing Crowley’s occult presence in the world. Now he realised he had been wrong. He had merely gotten so used to it that he had forgotten how the world felt like without it. Like a birdsong in the forest, he had stopped hearing it. But when the birds suddenly stopped their singing… The silence that followed was louder than any sound could be.

Aziraphale unfurled his wings without a second thought and soared to the pitch black sky. Snowflakes whipped his face at high speed. Had the demons reached Dawson City already? Or were they tormenting Crowley somewhere in the woods? Aziraphale would start from the clearing and track their trail until he found them. But it might be too late, too late...

He reached the clearing in what felt like no time at all and an eternity at the same time. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold as ice. Crowley was crumbled in the middle of the clearing, exactly as Aziraphale had left her. Wild hair spread like a halo around Crowley’s head, thin body covered only by her glimmering dress, and now, a layer of delicate snow.

Aziraphale landed a couple steps away from Crowley and rushed towards her. His wings disturbed the fresh snow on the ground, but a thin coat of it still covered Crowley’s face, her hair, her dress. With trembling hands Aziraphale reached to wipe the snow from Crowley’s face. He recoiled from the first touch. Her skin was cold. Colder than no human body could be, unless...

“No, no, no. This can’t be…”

Aziraphale kneeled to the snow next to Crowley and lifted her upper body from the cruel frost to his lap.

“Crowley, this is not funny. Snap out of it, right this instant," he said, voice quivering, and shook Crowley gently. He rested her heavy head against his arm, then lifted his free hand to Crowley’s nose and mouth. The warm flow of air he wanted to feel was not there. 

A new detail caught Aziraphale’s eye. Where his axe had touched Crowley’s throat, close to her exposed collarbone, the angry red mark had turned into cold purple. Aziraphale had left a scar. 

A sharp terror twisted his gut. His axe _combined_ with his smiting... 

He remembered the flickering sensation. It had felt as if Crowley herself had disappeared. And here she lay, her body as cold as the snow. 

“No, please, Crowley. Don’t…” Aziraphale whispered. With a shaking hand, he lifted Crowley’s limp arm from the snow. He circled her thin wrist with his own calloused hand in search for a pulse. Crowley couldn’t be gone, not really. She was tough. She always had been tough, right from the start.

Aziraphale waited with his fingers around Crowley’s cold wrist. He waited for much longer than any pulse could have kept you waiting for the next beat.

“God, no," he gasped. Crowley’s arm fell to the ground. A deep and dense dread filled Aziraphale throughout. How could he know if it was just Crowley’s corporation that had given up, or was Crowley – 

Aziraphale could not finish the thought. A sob heaved out of his chest as he cradled Crowley’s old body close to him. Aziraphale gathered his wings around him, shielding the body from the cold wind and hiding them from the unforgiving world. Guilt and grief rose from deep within him. They painted his world with dark colours and weighed him down. It was all his fault, for agreeing to play along to Crowley’s plan, and for bringing her to the wilderness in the first place. His own selfishness had caused this. He had wanted to have more than what was rightfully his, and now it was Crowley who had to pay for it. 

Aziraphale had thought they would have more time. There had always been more time. And now, all of a sudden, it was too late. It was too late, and he would never get a chance to –

_ba –_

_dumm._

Aziraphale stopped breathing. He listened to the vast and unbroken silence. The wind in the ancient evergreen trees around the clearing and the gentle rustling of his own feathers were the only sounds he could hear. But he was sure he had sensed… 

He hurried to find the pulse point on Crowley’s wrist again. Seconds dragged on for ages as he waited to find any sign of life, each passing moment tormenting him more. Each moment he was more certain it had been wishful thinking. There was nothing to be sensed. Only silence and cold. 

But then...

_ba –_

_dumm._

Aziraphale felt it again. Slow and barely recognisable as a heartbeat. But it _was_ a heartbeat.

A spark of hope was ignited in him, accompanied by disbelief. No human body could survive the body temperature dropping so low. Even if Crowley’s demonic essence survived the smiting and the blessed axe, her corporation ought to have _died_ because of the cold _,_ by all accounts. Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s unresponsive face, at a complete loss about what was going on.

A shy thought knocked at the door of his consciousness. 

No _human_ body could survive the body temperature dropping this low. 

But a _snake’s_ body just might.

Aziraphale gathered Crowley safely to his lap and stood up. She had to be taken to warmth _right now._ He took off with unconscious Crowley in his arms. 

The loose snow swirled in graceful patterns on the clearing after them.

* * *

Aziraphale laid Crowley’s cold body carefully to the bed and covered her with blankets. With a snap of his fingers the stove filled itself with firewood from the shed, already burning hot as they emerged. After making sure the cabin was warming up steadily, he sat next to the bed and watched Crowley intently.

He was at a loss about what he should do. Would it be harmful to warm Crowley up too fast? Or should she be made as warm as possible right away?

Aziraphale reached to check Crowley’s temperature and was shocked to still find her skin frightfully cold to the touch. He reached to check underneath the blankets as well and to his terror found Crowley cold as if she was placed in an ice box. Cursing his stupidity, he yanked the blankets off of her. They would just insulate Crowley and keep the warmth of the room from reaching to her. 

But she looked so bare on the bed without the blankets. As if she was just some dead body, cared for by no-one. Aziraphale’s chest ached at the sight. 

Acting quickly, before he could change his mind, he climbed right next to Crowley on the narrow bed. He cradled unresponsive Crowley in his arms, her back against his chest, and pulled the covers on top of both of them. The cold that radiated from her was something terrible. It felt unnatural and very, very spooky. 

Aziraphale placed one of his arms underneath Crowley’s head as a pillow. With his other hand, he first arranged her long hair away from his own face, and then reached around her waist. He searched for her wrist and placed her finger on her pulse point. The horrifying pause between each heartbeat was a close call to stop Aziraphale’s own heart too, until the faint beat made itself known again. Waiting for the next one was equally as tormenting. Every passing second filled Aziraphale with dread, until the next beat relieved him of it again. 

There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

_Cold winter months. Barely a glimpse of sunlight each day._

_Under heavy blankets of snow, a cave._

_Snakes upon snakes upon snakes, slowly coiling around each other. Slowly, as if Time herself was made numb by the cold._

_Dark scales blending to each other, with no notion of where one body ends and another begins._

_Never-ending_ _frost._

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t dare to move from underneath the blankets. He resorted to miracling more firewood to the stove whenever the blaze threatened to die. He himself was uncomfortably warm, but Crowley remained stubbornly cold. The process of warming her up was slow. Much slower than Aziraphale would have had the patience for. 

He monitored Crowley’s pulse. It was hard to tell if it had picked up any pace, but eventually Aziraphale dared to hope again. The dreaded silences in between each beat were growing shorter, slowly but steadily. Crowley’s pulse was picking up the pace.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley flush against him. All the warmth he could give her, he would. 

When Crowley started breathing again, so lightly that it went unnoticed from Aziraphale at first, he cried. 

* * *

_Shy rays of daylight._

_Sunshine reaching out to cover more time each day._

_A drop of ice-cold water, melted by the first warmth of the spring._

_Ice-cold snow and ice-cold ground._

_Hidden underneath, the snakes coil._

* * *

The first time Crowley moved a muscle, Aziraphale yelped in delight. 

“Crowley? Dear? Are you awake?”

Crowley remained unresponsive to the world, but her breathing was even now.

Aziraphale felt the skin of her arm. It was still cool, but not that dreadful ice-cold anymore.

He allowed himself a moment to think it would all turn out alright.

* * *

_The sun gathers more force._

_Ice melts and sap rises in the trees. Birds return._

_In the den of the snakes, time flows again._

_Scaled bodies separate from each other and reach for sunlight._

_The back bone of the winter is broken._

* * *

“Ngghshhhnn," Crowley said.

“Crowley? Crowley! Oh thank the heavens, you are awake! Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t respond. Instead she started turning slowly around.

“Shh, there," Aziraphale tried to stop her, but she stubbornly turned until she was facing Aziraphale on the narrow bed. Her eyes opened a fraction. Golden eyes of a snake looked at Aziraphale for a moment. He didn’t know if she actually saw him. The gravity of the slumber pulled her eyes soon closed again and Crowley drifted back off.

Aziraphale gathered her tightly against his chest and made sure the blankets were securely tugged over the both of them. 

The shift in the world had been so slow that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it at first, but when he sharpened his senses, he now knew what to look for. There was that static background hum in the world again, that an extra colour in the spectrum. It was the sense of home that had made Saloon Fortuna stand out of all the other establishments in Dawson City, and the inexplicable sense of rightness that had flickered so violently earlier. It had all slowly returned to him. 

Crowley was back. 

* * *

_Summer breeze and sunshine._

_A rock warmed by the sunlight._

_Dark scales, absorbing the warmth, reflecting the little they can’t take._

_A snake, slowly coiling in the search of the warmth. A snake, whose scales were glimmering with darkness in the bright sunlight, refracting with the colours of the northern lights._

_Never-ending summer._

* * *

“Aziraphale?” asked a sluggish and slow voice buried underneath the blankets against Aziraphale’s chest.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale replied, unable to keep the overflowing fondness away from his voice.

“Did I die?” Crowley asked. The vowels were dragged as if it was hard to form the words. She lifted her head a fraction and Aziraphale got a glimpse of her sleepy eyes. He raised his hand to her hair and caressed it soothingly. 

“No, darling. I think you brumated. People usually say hibernation, but snakes actually brumate, if I recall correctly. Although, you did go _frightfully_ close to freezing," he said and wondered why he had to even in this delicate and precious moment act like a dictionary.

“Brumating...” Crowley dragged the word out and the tail of it got lost in her stupor.

“Yes, exactly," Aziraphale said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve never done that before," Crowley mumbled. “It wasss... trippy.”

Aziraphale moved his hand to rub gentle circles on Crowley’s back. She had returned to humane temperatures now and it felt simply marvellous. Aziraphale promised to himself he would never, ever take it for granted from now on. “You did very well, dear," he whispered into Crowley’s hair.

“‘ziraphale…” Crowley said, getting stuck on the hissing sound for a moment before getting his name out. Aziraphale liked the sound of it. Crowley didn’t hiss so often these days. The sound of it took him millennia back.

“What is it?”

“You almost killed me," she said with an unfittingly gleeful tone. Aziraphale bristled.

“I know, dear. I’m so terribly, _terribly_ sorry for it.”

“What the fuck was that axe for?” Crowley whined from deep within the blankets. “I only agreed to be sssmited...”

“I know! I was so foolish!” Aziraphale said. He wondered how he could ever articulate the agony he had gone through when he thought he had been the cause for Crowley to… 

“I thought I’d die," Crowley added, off-handedly, as if it was just an interesting anecdote. “I’m never gonna let you live this one down.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, my dear.”

“You’re so warm…” Crowley slurred. Aziraphale smiled when Crowley held onto him tighter. Soon the grip relaxed again and Crowley’s breathing evened out to sleep. It was regular, human sleep this time around, with a normal body temperature and an actual heartbeat. He was ridiculously happy, and without stopping to think, he pressed a kiss on Crowley’s forehead. Then he buried his nose into Crowley’s hair, and breathing in the scent of her, he drifted off to sleep too. 

* * *

Crowley woke up slowly. She had no idea how much time had passed. After trailing back and forth between consciousness and stupor for what had felt like an eternity, she finally was fully awake. It was still dark. But there was no knowing if it was still the same night.

She snapped her fingers experimentally and was relieved to see a spark. 

Aziraphale was snoring gently against Crowley. The sound rumbled through his chest, which doubled as her pillow. And he was still irresistibly warm…

Crowley had played the role of a damsel in distress for a month. In the end, all it had taken was for her to nearly die to finally get Aziraphale into her bed. Her role taken to the extreme. Not that it had been on purpose, of course. But had she known, maybe she would have tried it earlier. Thousands of years ago, perhaps. 

Crowley spent the rest of the night awake, revelling in Aziraphale’s closeness. She listened to his breathing and enjoyed how it felt to have his body so close to her. How he smelled of burned wood and miracles. She propped her head up and stared at Aziraphale’s sleeping face. So peaceful and relaxed, unlike so often when they were awake. The look suited him. Giving in to a temptation, she gingerly traced the shape of his nose with her finger. Then the delicate curve of his lips. Aziraphale twitched and Crowley quickly retracted her hand. She mapped his lips with her eyes instead and thought about kissing him.

When it started to get light outside, Crowley carefully got up from the bed. Aziraphale had gone so out of his depth trying to rescue her, even if it had been completely unnecessary and nearly got her killed. Nevertheless, such bravery should be properly rewarded. And what would better suit for thanking her angel than making him a real breakfast?

Crowley was on her way out to go find eggs of the willow grouse, when the strongbox caught her eye. It had been left open on the table. The parchment with a lock of her hair in it was up on top, folded open.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale has to decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters up today, to have a clear cut where the rating goes up. 
> 
> Cw: Crowley refers to herself as a man once, a mention of a violent death, arguing, fear of aggression, negative self-talk, thoughts about self harm, a suicidal thought. And general anxiety. Damn, this all sounds a bit dark. Is it? Maybe?

Aziraphale’s nose woke him up. He was feeling extraordinarily happy even before he knew what caused it. When his sleepy head caught up with his nose, he realised it was the smell of breakfast.

The second thought that caught up with him was that he was alone in the bed. All comfort was flushed away by a surge of panic. He yanked himself upright and got tangled in the blankets. Panic soon turned into confusion when he saw Crowley peacefully puttering on the other side of the cabin, by the stove.

“Crowley!” he burst out.

“Good morning, angel," Crowley said and glanced at Aziraphale over her shoulder. She was wearing her glasses today and had gathered her hair in an elaborate bun high on her head. Aziraphale hadn’t seen her hair done quite so nicely ever since he had taken Crowley from Saloon Fortuna a month ago. 

“You’re up!” Aziraphale was so delighted by the sight he could have squealed. No, more than that. He could have happily ran to Crowley and kiss them both silly. He cleared his throat and tried to banish the thought. It didn’t go away.

“Come drink your coffee while it’s hot," Crowley said and turned from the stove to bring the coffee pot to the table. 

Aziraphale disentangled himself from the blankets and went to sit by the table. It was hard to reorient himself to the situation. Crowley was up and about, and making breakfast! That hadn’t happened during the whole month. 

He saw the strongbox placed on the table, neatly closed. He didn’t remember packing it away, but was relieved to find out that he had. There was no need for Crowley to go and poke her pretty nose into its contents. His own… obsession was quite a different thing than a quick kiss to fool some demons.

Crowley placed a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of him, accompanied by a plate of breakfast. “Here you go, angel. Fried grouse eggs with toast and wild herbs, together with beans and hash browns.”

“This looks delicious," Aziraphale said, and then glanced at Crowley with concern. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

“I ate some from the pan.”

“But you must have use for some extra energy, after what –”

“I’m feeling fine.”

“Alright, well, if you’re sure…”

“Eat up, angel," Crowley said and sat down at the table with a steaming cup of coffee of her own.

Aziraphale yielded and dug in. There was something so special about food someone else had made for him, especially if that someone was Crowley. Had Crowley ever cooked for him before? He didn’t think so. He intended to savour every last bite of it.

He took a bite of the fried eggs on toast and moaned with delight. 

“Crowley, you have no idea how happy this makes me. Seeing you back on your feet and now  _ this," _ he said with his mouth full, too overjoyed to ever bother with table manners. He saw a smile twitch at the corner of Crowley’s lips. Had she painted her lips today? The shade suited her well. She watched him intently from behind her coffee cup. The steam painted fleeting patterns to her dark lenses. 

He ate slowly and made sure to compliment each aspect of the food that he found especially enjoyable. Crowley leaned over the table and looked increasingly more pleased with herself. 

Once Aziraphale had scooped the plate clean, he sat back on the chair and sighed happily. After all the worry and panic of the past events, things had turned out just fine in the end. This was a moment he would like to freeze and preserve in a jar and place on a shelf in his bookshop in London. Him and Crowley, back together in their cabin, sharing fond glances over cups of extraordinarily good coffee. Well, he was glancing Crowley fondly. He couldn’t be quite sure about her. 

The scar at the base of Crowley’s throat caught Aziraphale’s eye. The colour of it had returned to faint pink now. Just a short while ago it had been a dead shade of purple... And before that an angry red, when Aziraphale had pressed the axe on Crowley’s throat. 

And just like that, the perfect moment had dissolved like the steam from Crowley’s coffee cup. 

Crowley’s relaxed expression turned into a frown. “What is it?” 

“Does it – does it hurt?” Aziraphale asked and motioned at his own throat, mirroring the position of the scar. 

“What?” Crowley asked and lifted her hand to her throat. She missed the spot of the scar at first before finding the risen texture of it. 

“You left a  _ scar _ on me?” she said with a scandalised tone but with a smile on her face. “How does it look like? Is it visible?” She snapped her fingers and a small mirror appeared in her hand. 

“Wow. Aziraphale. I’m a marked man now," Crowley said and sounded delighted. “If you ever find me beheaded in a ditch, you can still recognise my corpse from this. Well, if the head is cut away high enough, at least.”

Aziraphale spluttered. “Why would  _ that _ be the first thing you think of?”

“It might come in handy someday. You never know.”

“Don’t jinx it. Awful to even think about… Crowley, don’t you –” Aziraphale struggled to find the right words and began to fidget with his fingers. “Don’t realize that I almost… lost you? And it, it, it would have been my own fault…” 

“The keyword there is  _ almost.  _ Nothing happened! I’m fine as a lark," Crowley said and snapped the mirror into oblivion, then picked her coffee cup back up.

“But, but, but, don’t you see? None of that would have happened, if I hadn’t… “

“What’s the use, angel? Of thinking,  _ if _ you hadn’t. If this, if that. Useless! All of it. We’re fine now, and that’s what matters," Crowley said lightly and waved with her hand, dismissing all of Aziraphale’s concerns. 

_ If I hadn’t dragged you here with me on a selfish whim in the first place, _ Aziraphale thought. It  _ was  _ all of his fault. And he could never bear carrying the weight of being the cause of Crowley’s demise. This had been a close call. Too close.

“We have to take you back to Dawson as soon as possible," he said decidedly and started gathering the empty breakfast dishes from the table. 

“What?” Crowley straightened up slightly. Aziraphale reached to take the coffee cup from her hand but she pulled it closer to her chest. 

“You heard me. It’s not safe here. What if those two demons –” Aziraphale said and started to get up from the table with the dishes. Crowley shot one hand out and pinned his wrist to the table.

“Wait. Are you kicking me out?” 

Aziraphale sat back down. Maybe it was better to talk this out before preparing for the hike. “I don’t think it counts as kicking you out, exactly. I was the one who dragged you here in the first place.” 

“That – that’s – that’s not the point, that’s far away from the point –" Crowley stammered. She kept holding Aziraphale’s wrist with one hand. Aziraphale set down the dishes and covered Crowley’s hand with his own. 

“But Crowley. Surely you understand. They are bound to come looking for you at any moment now," he said and rubbed the back of Crowley’s hand with his thumb. Crowley didn’t pull the hand away. Did it mean she...

“What – ngk, no! Angel, no! They whimmed away ages ago and they are  _ not  _ going to come to rescue me again." Crowley gestured with the coffee cup on her other hand. Coffee spilled on her fingers but she didn’t flinch. 

“Well, if it’s not demons, then it’s Heaven’s lot! They might check on me at any moment,” Aziraphale said anxiously but all the same marvelled the feel of Crowley’s hand in his. He freed his wrist from Crowley’s grip and took her hand between both of his. If Heaven saw him holding a hand of a demon...

“They haven’t checked on you for  _ years. _ Why would they come down now?” Crowley asked. Did she squeeze his hand lightly or did he imagine it?

“They might! We can’t know! What I’m  _ saying, _ it’s not safe for you to be here. It never has been. It was foolish of me right from the start to think...” Aziraphale let the sentence trail away. How could he even start explaining it all to Crowley? All of his reasons, some of which he hadn’t dared to examine even just by himself yet? 

“Look, I know we’ve both been playing a part here, but isn’t it overdoing it a bit to say that right from the  _ start _ this was… What? An error?” Crowley said. Her hand tensed in Aziraphale’s hold.

“Yes, well, it was, from the point of view of –" Aziraphale tried to explain, but could only really think about how he wanted to lift Crowley’s hand from the table and kiss it. Her knuckles were beautiful. Delicate and strong at the same time. 

“Great. Great. A bit thick coming from you but – you actually regret this, this, this whole  _ thing  _ then? she asked sharply and yanked her hand away. 

The sudden absence of the touch hit Aziraphale like cold winter air and he realised what Crowley must have heard. “No, that’s  _ not _ what I said –" Aziraphale tried to intervene but Crowley didn’t let him.

“A whole month of hide and seek, and  _ now  _ you regret it?” 

“Now you are just twisting my words!”

“Let’s have fun while it lasts! And the  _ second  _ it gets inconvenient for you, you’ll just… throw it away!” Crowley threw her hands up in the air and the rest of the coffee flew from the cup. It hit the floor behind her with a splash.

“Why won’t you listen to what I’m trying to say?” Aziraphale shouted and was startled to hear his own voice echo in the resulting silence. Crowley stared at him. Then she slammed the empty coffee cup on the table and crossed her arms, mouth tightly shut.

“I don’t understand what you are going on about! You are putting words in my mouth,” Aziraphale said and tried to gather his thoughts. Where had the conversation gone so badly off the rails? “All I’m saying is that – erm. Is it really worth it? Worth the risk?”

“Is it really worth it," Crowley repeated icily, barely moving a muscle.

Aziraphale was scrambling to find the right words and found it immensely difficult. There were so many things he was not able to say. “What I’m saying is, is, is that. I’ve… enjoyed this past month. But…“ he swallowed. “but bringing you here has now had all these… consequences. And I wonder… is it really worth it? Risking it all?”

“Consequences." Crowley’s voice was void of any emotion.

“Crowley. You know what I mean. Surely you do." Aziraphale could hear the pleading tone in his own. 

Crowley sat still as if she was frozen.

“Crowley, please. Tell me what are you thinking about," Aziraphale pleaded and reached a hand over the table towards Crowley, palm up. A peace offering. They could still fix this. They could talk it out, and then get Crowley safely back to Dawson. All would be well.

“What I’m thinking about?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded. The cold tone of her voice scared him, but at least she was talking. 

“What I’m thinking about is that it is awfully convenient for you to just whisk me around whenever you feel like it." 

Aziraphale’s out-streched hand faltered. “What?” 

“You seem to think that you can order me around however it suits you.”

“Crowley, no, that’s not what –”

“No,  _ you _ listen to  _ me _ now." Crowley uncrossed her arms and stabbed a finger towards Aziraphale. “You dragged me here just because you felt like it, and now that there are consequences you just... discard me? Like a used… breakfast plate?” She grabbed the empty plate from the neat pile in front of Aziraphale. “This is just like Holy Water! You are making decisions for both of us and don’t ever stop to consider how I  _ feel!" _

Crowley got up from the seat and raised the plate. Wincing, Aziraphale closed his eyes and anticipated a crash. But nothing came. Where the sound of shattering porcelain ought to have been, there was just loud silence. He opened his eyes and saw Crowley stare at her own hand as if it had grown a second set of fingers. She placed the plate back on the table like it burned.

“It’s always about you. You and your... rules.” Crowley paused for a briefest moment. When she continued, there was a broken edge to her voice. “Just this one time I would like to be more important to you than your rules.”

Crowley closed her mouth and turned away. She was breathing heavily. The silence rang in the cabin and it pressed down on Aziraphale. Something about the morning, the breakfast, something about  _ everything _ had gone horribly wrong. The perfect moment he had wanted to preserve might as well have happened centuries ago. 

But had it been perfect, really? If it was like Crowley said, if they had been playing by Aziraphale’s rules all along, how could it have been? A new kind of guilt washed over Aziraphale and he felt nauseous. Crowley was right. Of course Crowley was right. She was always right. Aziraphale was the soft one of the two of them, and Crowley had had to…  _ coddle  _ him all this time. 

Aziraphale noticed his own breathing grow more shallow. But Crowley would not guide him this time. No, he would not let Crowley take responsibility for his emotions. Not anymore. He willed himself to take one shaky but deep breath. 

“Alright," he said quietly.

Crowley glanced at him quickly under her glasses. “What?”

“Alright. Screw the rules," Aziraphale said with slightly more confidence. He could do this. He could do something right. And he could do it for Crowley. Always, always for Crowley.

Crowley snorted. 

“I... I mean it. I’ll show you.” Aziraphale got up from the table. He wasn’t sure what he was suggesting. But if he had faith in anything, he had faith in Crowley. Crowley would show him what she needed him to do. What rules she needed Aziraphale to break. And he would try. “If you’ll let me.”

Crowley eyed him suspiciously, not relaxing her tensed pose. The moment was fragile. Any wrong word might break it.

Crowley broke it.

“I know what’s in the strongbox," she said. And with that simple sentence, she ended Aziraphale’s world.

Aziraphale could have sworn the ground shook and tilted beneath his feet. He was left standing in a rapidly changing landscape. He stared at Crowley with wide eyes and a distant voice whispered to him: _ this is it.  _

_ You knew what you were risking when you picked up that damn lock of hair. This is all on you. You are a creep and now Crowley knows it too. She will leave and never forgive you. You’ll be alone for the rest of your existence, and it’s your fault alone. _

The voice continued and told Aziraphale to walk out of the cabin and go drown himself in the creek. Rid himself of this unruly body. A body that knows no better than to lust after his only friend in the whole existence. He could get another body, a purer one. Surely that would solve all of this. 

And yet another, even more distant voice dared to inform him that Crowley had not, in fact, told him her opinion about the contents of the box, and might it not be just a  _ little _ too hasty decision to self-discorporate when we don’t have all the facts yet, and isn’t this body actually a very nice one in many regards and wouldn’t it be an absolute shame to do it any harm, so can we all just  _ calm down _ and take a deep breath before we rush into things this one time? Please? 

Aziraphale took the deep breath. 

“You… you do?” he said. His voice was still there, if a bit shaky, and so was the floor of the cabin, horizontal as ever. Still, the terror of the unknown began welling his eyes with tears. He blinked them away.

Crowley nodded, not revealing anything. Someone else might have hated her for it, but Aziraphale could never. This was  _ Crowley. _ Crowley, who had put up with his foolishness for all these centuries. The only being who actually listened to him. The one who never let Aziraphale off the hook, always challenging him with unexpected patience, and oh God, Aziraphale did not deserve her, now did he?

“And… how do you…“ Aziraphale struggled with every word, but this was too important to leave it up for guessing, “...feel about it?”

Crowley finally turned to fully look at him. She raised her chin up and took her glasses off. Her eyes were revealed to be fully golden, the pupils narrow. The gold in her eyes was more precious than any gold Aziraphale could dig up in all of eternity. Crowley had painted her eyes too. Gold and black tones of the makeup made her eyes shine bright. And yet another stubborn voice whispered to Aziraphale: she painted her eyes  _ for you.  _ The thought made his breath catch in his throat. Surely not for him?

But Aziraphale saw Crowley’s chest heaving. He saw her Adam’s apple bop up and down when she swallowed. Crowley looked nearly as wretched as Aziraphale felt. He tried not to think about the implications of that, but hope rose within him nevertheless. A dangerous thing, hope.

But there was something else as well. Something more ancient than mere hope. Something Aziraphale had managed to keep in check for so long, but was now pulling its shackles so that they creaked. This useless body, with needs and wants of its own. He had accepted the gluttony a long time ago, but lust… Lust was a hard one. 

The rules Crowley needed him to break… There were some rules Aziraphale had set for himself back when the Earth had been brand new. Breaking them now would launch his world spinning in completely unknown directions. They were not rules that would be broken lightly. But if Crowley asked... If Crowley  _ wanted. _ Aziraphale would not break the rules for his own sake, even if he had wanted to for so long, but for Crowley...

Looking into Crowley’s eyes, the shackles holding Aziraphale in place whined under the stress of his struggle. It felt dangerous. 

It felt  _ good. _

The silence stretched in between them, thin as ice. One wrong step might break it and leave them in ice-cold water. 

One right step, on the other hand…

Aziraphale leaned forward to take a step, but Crowley had already crossed the cabin with two long strides. 

She grabbed Aziraphale from the lapels of his sturdy flannel and stared down at him, nose to nose. Aziraphale looked up at her otherworldly eyes. They were furious, but also searching, going up and down Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale’s eyes dropped down to her mouth and saw her searching for words too, lips forming letters but not finding the ones worth sharing. 

Aziraphale did not dare to breathe. His whole existence was balancing on a tipping point. The weight of his fears was holding him back, and as their equal opposite was the pull towards Crowley. In their meeting point stood Aziraphale, faced with a decision. But when Crowley leaned in, it didn’t feel like a decision at all. It felt like finally giving in to gravity. 

With all the words still unsaid on Crowley’s lips, the distance was crossed and the rules broken. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale lets Crowley lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of the two chapters I posted today. Let’s get the rating!
> 
> If you want to skip the sex completely, jump to the next chapter once it's up and start with “It had been a beautiful spring day.” The emotional arc of the story will take a hit, but you’ll be able to follow the plot. Let me know if anyone would want more detailed instructions of what to skip!
> 
> CW: Seemingly angry sex, consent is not explicitly stated, almost explicit handjobs and oral sex. During Aziraphale’s POV there will be heavy anxiety regarding sex. He won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, though, and Crowley will comfort him.
> 
> I don’t name any genitals or describe their chests. It is still pretty clear which normative genitals each of these fools may have, but feel free to interpret as you wish!

Crowley was furious, offended, and she was desperate.

She had made Aziraphale the perfect thank you: an actual breakfast that she had actually made the human way. It had been romantic, she had through – and what did Aziraphale decide to do? To whisk Crowley back to Dawson!

This was not how it should have gone, Crowley realised. She had not wanted to be angry when they’d kiss again. Not scared of being cast away. It ought to have been soft and gentle. Even caring, if she dared to wish. But Crowley had rushed them up and acted before Aziraphale got rid of her, and so an angry kiss was what she got. 

Crowley was not sure what their fight had been about. She was not sure what it meant that Aziraphale had cuddled her back to life after first almost annihilating her. She could not even  _ begin _ to understand what it meant that Aziraphale had hidden the lock of her hair away. All she knew was that Aziraphale had been planning to send her away, and this month of living in a dream, their month together stashed away from the world, could not end without another kiss. She would never forgive herself if it did. 

So Crowley kissed Aziraphale like her life depended on it. 

And for the God above, Satan below or whoever was worth praying for, this time Aziraphale kissed her back. Messy, desperate, breathless. Their shallow breaths got mixed into each other and Crowley felt drunk from Aziraphale’s scent. Last night she had tried to memorise it. It was everywhere now. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s head in her hands and carded her fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. How was it that she had not known the texture of his hair before?

Aziraphale’s strong hands were holding her waist and pulling her close. It was irresistible to get to experience his touch. Aziraphale wasn’t just an idea or a dream. Not anymore. He was a real being with a real body, a body Crowley could touch and feel. It shouldn’t have been a revolutionary idea, and yet Crowley felt dizzy with it as if she had just been granted a corporation for the very first time. She pushed closer and seeked for more contact, deepening the kiss. She wanted to slide right through Aziraphale’s skin, melt into his being, dissolve the borders between their separate corporations. Right in this moment, it was all she had ever wanted.

And even though she wanted all of it and more, it was too much at the same time. Crowley broke the kiss and rested her forehead against Aziraphale’s. His scent grounded her, and after a couple of deep breaths she dared to open her eyes. The world seemed hazy and went in and out of focus for a moment. Distantly Crowley wondered if her eyes were playing tricks. Aziraphale was staring at her under heavy eyelids with wonder in his eyes. Crowley had never seen a similar expression on his face, and especially not directed at  _ her. _

She swallowed and searched for words. Anything to keep that look on Aziraphale’s face a little longer. Anything to stoke the fire and rile up the game. Aziraphale could not be allowed to back away now. Pushing away any romantic notions of the hair lock aside, Crowley went for her fantasy instead. 

“You’ve taken me this far. Why don't you finish what you’ve started?” Crowley said, low, almost like purring. The words were full of courage she did not actually have. “And don’t deny it. You’ve thought about it.”

Aziraphale’s hungry expression got tainted with worry. Not fear, exactly, but something like steel in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley could not hear a rejection, not now. She grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s face and kissed him hard. There was to be no space left for Aziraphale’s worries, or this all would collapse, Crowley knew it. Then, without letting go of his chin, she stared right through Aziraphale.  _ "Play. Along." _

Aziraphale stared back and drew in a deep breath.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his face very serious. His grip on Crowley’s waist tightened.

“Yes," Crowley said, dragging the word into a hiss. She held Aziraphale’s chin up higher and looked first to his eyes, then to his mouth. Aziraphale needed to see her hunger. He was not allowed to say no to this. Crowley was wrung so tight that a rejection at this point would surely shatter her. 

Silence drew on for an excruciatingly long moment. Then Aziraphale slowly raised one hand from Crowley’s waist and grabbed Crowley’s wrist from where she held his chin. He grabbed it  _ hard. _

“You are right," Aziraphale said, voice low. “I have thought about it.”

Hearing the confession, a flare of want shocked Crowley from head to toe. She bared her teeth. Aziraphale would soon be eaten alive. He would be swallowed down  _ whole. _

Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s hand. He guided it away from his chin, to his mouth. Crowley watched eyes wide as Aziraphale parted his lips and licked her index finger. Then he pushed both her index and middle finger on his tongue, slid them to the back of it. Croweley’s want surged to flood her again as she felt the texture and wetness of Aziraphale’s mouth. Who was this Aziraphale? What had happened to the nervous angel from before?

Aziraphale pulled her fingers out of his mouth but didn’t let go of her hand. “But there is something you ought to know.”

“Shit, I can’t take bad news right now,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale huffed out a laugh. He bit his lips and seemed to think something way too rationally considering the moment. Then he reached quickly down with his free hand and opened the fastening of his trousers. He showed Crowley’s saliva-slick fingers straight down to his pants.

Crowley’s slick fingers found even more slickness. She moaned at the sensation and heard Aziraphale mirror the sound. She dropped her head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and moved her fingers around experimentally. The movement was rewarded by a heady little gasp. 

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley managed to gasp.

“So, you see,” Aziraphale said between gasps of his own, “I can’t exactly do the things to you that… that I think you were suggesting.”

“Chance of plans, then,” Crowley said. 

“Change of plans,” Aziraphale echoed. He let go of Crowley’s hand in his pants and hesitantly placed his hand on Crowley’s belly. Then he slowly trailed downwards and caressed Crowley through her dress.

“God fucking Satan, what the fuck," she mumbled. Aziraphale replied equally flustered, sighing wordlessly on Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley’s brain was trying to catch up with what was happening and failed. All that existed was her hand down in Aziraphale’s pants, Aziraphale’s shallow breathing, his hand in her crotch, his scent circling her and his steady weight keeping Crowley upright. It was only Aziraphale, Aziraphale, and Aziraphale. As it should always be. 

“This useless dress of yours, why can’t you wear any sensible clothes, it’s driving me mad," Aziraphale muttered and tugged up the hem of Crowley’s dress. Crowley wasn’t wearing anything under it, as she had allowed herself the overly optimistic hope dreaming this might actually happen today. Well, not exactly this. She had entertained a half-formed, unrealistic fantasy of Aziraphale pulling the dress up, bending her over a table and taking her until she forgot her own name. At some level she had imagined they would play the part of the brutal kidnapper and his dainty prisoner to the very end, doing all those things together the humans thought Aziraphale was doing to her here. But their forms or the logistics of their bodies didn’t matter, in the end. Not in the slightest. She would take Aziraphale in any and all forms he would present himself. And she would always ask for more.

Aziraphale finally got his hands on her skin under the dress. But there was a quiet hesitation to his touch. Crowley's own fingers down in Aziraphale’s pants slowed down. She raised her head from Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Is it okay?” she asked, out of breath, not exactly sure what she referred to. Maybe it was about her own form, or maybe it was about the whole situation. Maybe it was about  _ her _ in general.

Aziraphale whined. “God, yes.”

He turned his gaze up at Crowley’s eyes. Crowley was shocked to see his eyes so hungry and so eager. Aziraphale pulled her close and captured her in a desperate kiss, trapping Crowley’s hand in between them. She nearly lost her balance but Aziraphale had a strong grip of her waist again. Crowley pushed her hand lower in between Aziraphale’s legs. She was overjoyed getting to taste Aziraphale’s kiss and feel him at the same time, and to hear him react to her touch. She rubbed with her fingers and was rewarded with Aziraphale’s delicious panting growing more ragged. She rolled her own hips against Aziraphale together with the motions of her fingers. Soon they were moving together, Aziraphale holding her and mirroring the motions. 

A triumphant thought emerged in Crowley’s head. She was  _ doing _ this. She was  _ really doing _ this. Crowley was pleasuring Aziraphale, and Aziraphale, by the looks and sounds of it, enjoyed it immensely.

Time lost its form and bent into the shape of their pleasure. Aziraphale was whining into their kiss and soon, or finally, soon and finally and all too soon and all too much, Aziraphale was gasping to Crowley’s mouth and his body jerked, his fingertips digging hard to Crowley’s hips.

Crowley was about to black out simply from being lucky enough to witness Aziraphale so ravished, so lost in pleasure, so lost in  _ her.  _ She opened her eyes in their messy kiss and looked at Aziraphale scrunched-up eyes with marvel. Aziraphale’s sounds of pleasure were drug to her ears and she gasped together with him, taking pleasure of his pleasure, until she might as well have been bursting too. 

Aziraphale broke from the kiss and opened his eyes. His gaze was glassy, distant, lips pink from kissing and mouth left open. But something from Crowley’s face must have hit a nerve, because the distant and soft look turned back into hunger very soon. Aziraphale  _ growled. _

He tugged Crowley’s hand from his pants and backed Crowley against the shed door. Crowley saw her own slicked fingers raised in the air, distant as if the hand wasn’t really hers, and she marvelled the sight. But it all disappeared again as Aziraphale’s body slammed her against the door. Aziraphale gathered up the hem of the dress that had fallen down to Crowley’s knees. She reached down to pull the whole dress over her head in one motion, wiping her fingers while she was at it. 

Aziraphale leaned backwards and let his gaze travel over Crowley’s exposed skin, accompanied by his gentle fingertips. Crowley felt the gaze on her as if it was sunshine, as if she was a snake again, and Aziraphale was all he could ask for to keep her warm. She smiled, seeing how Aziraphale’s eyes raked over her. Then Aziraphale’s touch wasn’t fingertips anymore, it was his palms, and the roughness of his calloused skin fit perfectly with the roughness of the touch, as he tried to feel as much of Crowley as possible. Crowley fumbled to open the buttons of Aziraphale’s flannel too, but didn’t have much luck, because Aziraphale cradled her close to the wall and kissed her neck. Crowley gasped out loud and her hips bucked forward. Her head fell back and hit the wooden door with a bang. She was melting under Aziraphale’s touch, melting in his sunlight and warmth. 

And finally, Aziraphale properly touched her. His gentle strokes and the kiss on her neck at the same time were plenty enough to make Crowley’s gaze go unfocused, and an incoherent string of syllables escaped her lips. Aziraphale hummed to her neck, sounding amused. He raised his head from Crowley’s neck and looked up at her face. Crowley tried to focus her gaze on him. The intoxicating motion of Aziraphale’s hand wasn’t making it easy.

Aziraphale was suddenly looking at her with a pained expression on his face.

“What," Crowley managed, just a breath with her panting.

“You are…” Aziraphale swallowed, “so… damn..." he said each word in between breaths, and stopped to shake his head. “Gorgeous.”

“What," Crowley repeated, both because she didn’t believe she had just heard Aziraphale say what he heard he said, and because all the other words had escaped her. 

“Yeah," Aziraphale said, equally at loss. 

“Ngh," Crowley said, and it was too many words exchanged anyway, because all she could focus on was the motion of Aziraphale’s hand. It clouded her whole being into one mushy sensation, and her eyes fluttered shut. Vague motion was happening in the room outside of her body, but she couldn’t register it anymore. Maybe if she had, she would have been more prepared for the sensation of Aziraphale’s mouth on her. 

It hit her like a flood. Her hands flew to Aziraphale’s hair, but she didn’t know if she needed to hold him back or encourage him forward. It all was just a part of the same overpowering sensation. It was Aziraphale everywhere, and it was Aziraphale down on his knees for her, and that thought kicked her like a falling down from a galloping horse. Crowley opened her eyes just because she couldn’t believe it, but there it was, it was Aziraphale in front of her, tasting her and looking like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be and nothing else he would rather do. 

Simply the visual of it nearly toppled Crowley over the edge. The muscles on her stomach clenched, but surely she couldn’t come yet. They had just started. But Aziraphale was right there. Aziraphale was right there, and he felt so good. There was a swirl of his tongue. The rhythm was deafening. It pulled Crowley into the depths of it. Then Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked up to her. Crowley opened her mouth to say something, say anything, to warn or to thank or to curse or to bless, but it was too late and she was coming. A cry escaped her lips. She was flying high, higher than she remembered having been in a long time, and it was a whirlpool of emotions, blacking out her vision and making her cling to Aziraphale’s head like she was drowning. Echoes of her gasps and moans died in the cabin as Crowley let go of the attempt to stand up, and she slid down the rough wooden door to his arms. Aziraphale simply hugged her as she put her head on his shoulder and laid her weight over him like she was a ragdoll. He hummed soothingly and stroked her hair. Crowley closed her eyes. She wished she could stop time right at this moment and never face whatever was coming after. 

This was all she could have ever asked for. High on sex, held in Aziraphale’s arms, being taken care of. If she could have this, even for this one brief moment, the world could end tomorrow and she could still be happy. But even better: Crowley could keep on showing Aziraphale how good this could be. How good they were together. They may not have been good with words, never daring to say what they really wanted and meant, but she could show with actions what Aziraphale meant to her. And then they could have this too. They didn’t need to pretend to be just friends. Not when they both knew they could have so much more. 

“You. In the bed,” she said. 

* * *

Aziraphale was not in control.

Crowley’s kiss, a real kiss with continuum and reciprocity this time, had been enough to send the shackles flying in all directions, freeing something ancient in him that he had for so long kept in place. Sex wasn’t new to him, no – the restrictions had been all about Crowley. Crowley had always been off-limits. First it had been because she was a demon. Later it had been because she was a friend. 

But Crowley had freed him. With that kiss, something had been set to motion and all carefully curated control had gone with it. Somewhere in the back of his mind Aziraphale knew they were being reckless. Absolutely and indefensibly reckless. He had thought, after that first kiss, that they ought to stop – he had thought it very clearly and lucidly. The words had been there. But even as Aziraphale had thought them, he had known he wasn’t going to listen to them. He hadn’t wanted to. 

What he had wanted instead was to finally succumb and let the flood swipe him from his feet. And Crowley, always so brilliant Crowley, who seemed to know him from the inside out, had taken the lead and told him what to do.

_ Play. Along. _

Aziraphale had been happy to. 

It had been leading to this all along, hadn’t it? Stealing Crowley away to his claim had been just an excuse to be alone with her all this time. Each conversation had been about searching for an opening. Had it always been inevitable? They were supposed to be opposing forces, to repel each other. And yet they were pulled together, as if they had both been made wrong right from the start. Aziraphale knew he might as well be made wrong, but not Crowley. No, never Crowley. Crowley was made perfect. 

And now Crowley was pulling him up from the floor and taking him to bed. 

She was on top of him in the instant he lied down. The kiss still was as novel as if they’d never kissed before, and Aziraphale melted into it. He melted into the mattress and into Crowley’s touch, and he melted into the thought of Crowley. His demon, taking the lead, showing them both what to do.

There were so many things Aziraphale wanted to do, and he wanted to do them all at once. Getting down on his knees for Crowley had been a forbidden fantasy come true. He already wanted to do it again, to catalogue the sensations better and to get lost in them. He wanted to savour her like she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever tasted, and she was. Aziraphale wanted to learn all the sounds Crowley made and find out what was the best way to lure them out of her. She had sounded irresistibly delicious when Aziraphale had kissed her neck. Biting gently to the Adam’s apple of the very snake who had been responsible for the whole mess with the apple in the first place – there was poetry to it Aziraphale could not resist. How many other ways could he make Crowley gasp? Could they discover everything at one go? Maybe next time they could –

There it was again, the thought at the back of his mind.  _ Reckless.  _ Aziraphale pushed the thought away. If he allowed it to take root, all would collapse. Something terrible was looming there, hiding behind that thought, and he would not, he could not allow it in. Not yet. There was still time. He wanted to have this.

And he was  _ going to _ have this. No matter what. Fears could wait.

Crowley was fumbling about the buttons of his flannel shirt, and Aziraphale reached down to help her. Their hands got tangled together and they laughed, Crowley swatting his hands away as she opened the last buttons. She pushed the shirt away and got her hands on Aziraphale’s skin in the instant it was possible. Her brow furrowed and she whined like something was unfair. Aziraphale didn’t have a chance to ask what it was about, because Crowley was drowning him in kisses again. He traced her neck while returning the kiss and explored the ridges of her vertebrae through the smooth skin. Then Crowley began trailing down his torso. Anticipation sent shivers down his spine and all the way to his fingers and toes as he watched Crowley’s descent. 

She stopped to pull away Aziraphale’s pants and he took the moment to shake the sleeves of the flannel off as well. Soon they were both equally naked. A sliver of self-consciousness slithered its way in, and with it the looming doubt at the back of his mind raised its head as well. Crowley looked up at him then from where she was sitting between his legs. Something of that doubt must have passed on to his face as well, because Crowley stopped moving her hands over the skin of his thighs and looked hesitant. Aziraphale looked back at her, not knowing if he wanted to hide or be consumed by Crowley’s dark stare. He had never seen Crowley’s eyes like this before. They were more black than gold. But now with that worried look on her face the pupils were narrowing again.

“You okay?” Crowley asked quietly. The tenderness in her voice hurt. Somehow it had been easier when Crowley had been demanding and forceful. That had helped Aziraphale keep the doubts away. Now Crowley was practically inviting them in, their dark mass spiking Aziraphale’s arousal with fear, and he could not allow that. He shut the doubts away. 

“Yes,” he said decisively. If Crowley just took the lead, all would return to that wonderful haze of lust and he would be okay, really okay. “I want to feel your tongue on me.”

Crowley’s eyes darkened again. Aziraphale was thrilled to see it happen because of his words. 

“You want to, don’t you?” he asked, dropping his voice into a low rumble. 

Crowley stared at him, teeth slightly bared. “Yes,” she said and let the word end in a hiss. She then shook her head and blinked purposefully. “Fuck, angel. I never knew.”

“What?”

“That you were… That you even…” Crowley blinked again and trailed her hands on Aziraphale’s thighs. “Sex. That you even had sex.”

Aziraphale hummed as a response and let his own hand trail down over his belly. “I like things that make my body feel good.”

Crowley caught his hand before it reached between his legs. “Figures.” And after one mischievous look at Aziraphale, she dipped her head down and gave Aziraphale a teasing lick.

It was sudden. It always was sudden, no matter how slow he might have been teased. To be so exposed, so easily affected by so small motions… It was always surprising. Every single time. Crowley took her time exploring, not picking up a pace yet, but letting Aziraphale adjust to the sensations instead. Every now and then a stroke of Crowley’s tongue would hit just the right spot, and Aziraphale gasped, hearing a pleased hum from Crowley in return. Then followed more exploring, Crowley testing different movements, Aziraphale lifting his legs as well to find a good position. Crowley wasn’t using her hands yet, and Aziraphale was getting eager to feel them, to feel the pleasure doubling into a sensation of being filled as well as licked. But even just feeling Crowley’s tongue on him was enough to send waves of pleasure throughout his body.

Then Crowley found a motion that sent Aziraphale gasping enough that Crowley deemed her explorations finished. She set the pace. Aziraphale responded to it with a slight rhythmic movement of his hips. It was good, it was very good, and it would have been perfect, if not for –

There was something holding his pleasure back. A ceiling was set over it, like something pressing it down so that the pleasure couldn’t bloom into what Aziraphale knew it could become. Aziraphale tried to see past the obstacle and find a way around it. He tried to focus on the sensations in his body alone, the feel of Crowley’s tongue on him. But the more he tried, the more oppressive the sensation became. 

_ Reckless. _

Do not think, Aziraphale thought. Do not think about the fact that a demon is giving you the most exquisite pleasure. Do not think about all the ways of why this is wrong.

Do not think about what would happen if Heaven ever found out. 

Do not think.

Do not.

_ No. _

The dark emotion swallowed all of Aziraphale’s pleasure, stole it away as if it had never been there. His body reduced itself into a scared lump of flesh, Crowley’s touch lost its divine edge and became obscene, and the walls of the cabin fell over him. With one quick motion Aziraphale clamped his thighs shut and sat up, cradling his knees to his chest.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked from the end of the bed, mouth and chin slick, and Aziraphale couldn’t look at her, not just now. Lingering arousal was mixing with panic and he tried to focus on his breathing, which hadn’t been very even to start with.

“Angel, fuck, what did I do wrong?” Crowley asked. Aziraphle shook his head. He glanced at Crowley and saw her yellow eyes darting about his face while she wiped her mouth, trying to find an explanation. He would explain, soon. Maybe. If he could. But not just now. Tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes. It wouldn’t do to cry in the middle of having sex with Crowley. He just could not. 

Tears spilled out of his eyes anyway. 

Crowley got up to sit on the bed next to him. She reached to put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulders but hesitated. “Is it alright to touch you?” 

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment, then nodded quietly. Crowley draped an arm across his back, stroked his shoulder soothingly. She then reached to grab one of the blankets and wrapped it around Aziraphale. 

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said, and it was soft, so soft. Tears burst out and Aziraphale wept on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley hugged him tightly against herself and gently shushed him. 

“It’s okay,” Crowley mumbled to Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale cried more. Crowley’s tenderness cut into him like a knife. Out of the wounds poured out a mess of fear and shame, an ugly cocktail of everything Aziraphale had never wanted anyone to see. 

After a while Crowley rearranged them so that they were leaning against the rough wooden wall, blankets over the both of them. Aziraphale sniffled and held tight to Crowley, hoping the worst over. But then Crowley placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and he bawled again. With his tears the panic and anxiety poured out of him, staining Crowley’s skin. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Crowley said with real worry in her voice. Crowley was  _apologising_ of all things, and that wasn’t right at all. Aziraphale lifted his tear-streaked face from Crowley’s shoulder. He searched for Crowley’s lips and pressed a decisive kiss on them. Crowley hesitated first before giving in to it, but when she did, Aziraphale knew his tears had run out. It was hard to cry while getting such a lovely kiss. It was different from the earlier ones, which had been hazy with lust. This one was… this one was just sweet. 

Aziraphale broke from the kiss and with a heavy sigh settled to lean against Crowley. He took Crowley’s hand to his own. It was a beautiful hand. Large and defined. He had wanted to hold it for so long. 

“I just… I just need you to know that… we can stop. We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to,” Crowley said, quiet and hesitant. It was precious, and such a different tone to what they had been doing earlier.  _ Finish what you’ve started, _ hadn’t Crowley said so? This whole day, this beautiful spring day was unlike any Aziraphale had ever experienced, both its highs, and now, lows.

Aziraphale chuckled wetly and wiped away the tears from his cheeks. “It’s not that I don’t  _ want to.” _

“No?” Crowley said. All about Crowley was so patient now. Her voice and her touch. Her kisses, too. It was wondrous to think that this was the same demon that could also tear down all of Aziraphale’s arguments so sharply, if she was in the mood for it.

“I do want,” Aziraphale said, and there was no fear left in him telling him not to state the fact. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” Crowley said. Aziraphale heard relief in her voice. 

“Yes. I thought it was quite obvious.” He searched for a way to explain what had caused him to back away. Crowley deserved an explanation. None of it was her fault. And as Aziraphale searched for a place to begin, he realised the tears really had washed away his fears for now. Crying had left him exhausted, but in a calm way, as if a great blockage had been finally removed. And next to the exhaustion, where his fears should have been, was nothing. Just a sense of inexplicable lightness and clarity. 

Aziraphale took in a deep breath to root himself into that clarity. “It was easier at first. When you were being forceful.”

Crowley looked puzzled. “So… me forcing you is fine and not forcing you makes you cry? That’s, uh… unexpected.”

It might have been funny, if it wasn’t true. Aziraphale only shrugged. He would have to put his fears into words to make Crowley understand. But right now the fears seemed distant, as if they were only a memory and not his everyday life. 

“Should I just full-on demonic tempt you then, huh?” Crowley joked with a weak laugh and nudged Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale mirrored the laugh, but it faded already when it began. 

“Yes,” he said. Crowley had said it as a joke, and yet, somehow it clicked into place. Crowley spluttered something as a response, but Aziraphale didn’t really listen. He began nodding. Yes, it made sense. If Crowley really took charge up to a point where Aziraphale could not say no, he could pretend to still have deniability. He did not have any, not anymore, but… just the thought of it made it easier.

“Tempt me,” he said with a certainty that was easy just then. Funny that it had hit him right now, when everything was more messy than it ever had been. His fear of getting caught should have raged more fiercely than ever, and yet it wasn’t there.

Maybe it was calm in the eye of a storm.

“Really? But are you sure you are… alright?” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked at her like he had not seen her before. In a way he hadn’t, not in a long while at least. Not without all of his fears and anxieties distorting the image. Crowley was beautiful like this. His friend, Crowley. His lover as well.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. His voice was calm and even. “I know myself. Any other day, I know I should say no. But right now…” Aziraphale stopped and laughed. The sense of lightness made him almost giddy. “Yes, I’m sure. Yes, I’m alright. I wasn’t before, and I won’t be later, but right now, truly and honestly, I am sure that I am alright.” 

“Aziraphale…” 

“I’m not finished yet.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and saw not only a demon, but also a being that he loved. He had loved Crowley for a long time, not knowing when it had started, but long enough that he knew it as an unwavering fact. Usually it got lost in the muddy waters of his anxiety. But now, polished like an old painting that had been cleared from old varnish, his love for Crowley shone in bright colours. “Crowley. You know me. I worry all the time. And that I’m able to see past it right now… that’s rare. And it won’t last. I know it won’t last, because it never does. Soon, maybe tonight, or tomorrow, my fears will catch up with me again. And when they return, I will forget there is anything else to life.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley for a long moment, without hurry. He knew that right now he would have been capable of telling Crowley he loved her. It would have been easy. It was a fact, and none of his fears were chasing the words away now. 

And he also saw that there was an actual, real possibility of Crowley loving him back. There was enough of that patient gentleness and caring about her that communicated it. 

I love you, Aziraphale thought, and looked Crowley steadily in the eye. He would not say it. It would be doing dirty to himself, when he descended back to his fearful everyday existence. The consequences of it would be too heavy of a burden for him to carry. With a distant sadness the words faded away. The emotion remained. 

“Do you understand?” he asked instead.

“I… maybe,” Crowley said and looked at him with something like awe. A sad smile visited Aziraphale’s lips. Yes, maybe it was this version of him Crowley might love. The anxious Aziraphale of everyday life was a wholly different being. 

“Then I’m saying it again. Today we have pushed aside enough of my barriers to allow this all to happen. Tomorrow they will all be back up. Don’t ask me why, or how. I just know it.”

Aziraphale paused to make sure he was speaking the absolute truth. “What I’m saying is… I want this. I want you to tempt me. And you better take the offer, because we might not ever get a chance quite like this.”

“Okay,” Crowley said, and there was no doubt in her voice anymore. Just wonder. “But I’ll only tempt you a little. I’m sure I can manage the rest the human way.”

“Alright. Just a little encouragement. So that I don’t… get anxious again,” Aziraphale said, and even just saying it was enough to shake the sense of clarity. It was slipping on the edges, revealing again the dark tones of the fears that loomed somewhere underneath. Well. He might be able to prolong it with Crowley’s temptation. Otherwise, it had been rewarding as long as it had lasted. Seeing Crowley not as a demon but as the being he loved was always as sweet. It was sad as well. Tomorrow the truth of his feelings would be hidden underneath his shame again. 

Aziraphale raised a hand to caress Crowley’s cheek and she leaned into the touch. Aziraphale guided her face closer. He brushed their lips together briefly before leaning into a kiss, and when he did, he kissed Crowley with love. It was a gentle kiss, but laced with purpose and dedication. It had none of the earlier panic, anger, or lust to it. For Aziraphale, all that it had was love. He might not be able to say the words out loud, but he could still show it. Maybe Crowley would understand.

Aziraphale parted from the kiss slowly, sadly, feeling the clarity starting to slip away. He looked at Crowley under heavy eyelids and saw a look of devotion in her eyes. It wasn’t directed at him, of course. This wasn’t who he really was. This moment was an exception. As long as Heaven reigned over him, as long as his life was clouded by the fear of their wrath, Aziraphale could not be who he was at this moment. Crowley could swoon over this version of him all he wanted, but it would not be real. 

“Tempt me,” he whispered. 

Crowley nodded. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fondness overflows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: consensual demonic temptation, penetrative sex

Crowley was in love. 

All she had ever wanted was to see all of Aziraphale. To unbutton his waistcoats and shirts or dresses and corsets, one small button at a time. The layers of fabric would fall away and reveal planes of skin, marked with parallel lines showing exactly the shape the angel wanted to be. Crowley would trace that skin and those marks and Aziraphale would not hide. 

And even more crucially, Crowley had wanted to reveal Aziraphale as himself and not merely as his corporation. There had always been walls keeping her at an arm's length. More than anything, Crowley wanted to see those walls crack, crack them herself if she could, and be invited in. And once she was in, she would pick up every thought and emotion the angel had ever had, turn them over in her hands and learn everything there was to know about Aziraphale. It was all Crowley had ever wanted. 

And right now Crowley finally had it. After being so scared of being cast away by Aziraphale, after being terrified of Aziraphale’s sudden and utterly heart-breaking melt-down, something had clicked into place.

There was a new and sudden openness to Aziraphale she had never witnessed before. The moment was delicate, too good to be true, and she was terrified of messing it up. Aziraphale had said it was temporary. He had said the worries would claim him back soon. Maybe they would, Crowley did not know. All she knew was that this moment was what she had been searching for for all of her existence. Aziraphale had willingly given up on his defences and had surrendered himself to be seen. And Crowley watched with hungry eyes, devouring each expression on Aziraphale’s face, listening to every word he said, feeling every touch they shared.

But there was something Crowley had not known to anticipate. As much as she watched Aziraphale, Aziraphale was watching back. His eyes were honest and open, full of candour and compassion. And as Crowley watched and saw Aziraphale looking back, she knew there was another distant dream that had come true. 

Aziraphale looked at her, and he did not see a demon, a being of an opposing nature and an adversary. Aziraphale looked at her and saw Crowley. 

And Crowley loved him. 

The feeling had been long since coming. There had always been something more to the way Crowley had gravitated towards Aziraphale. It had been a mystery she had never been able to solve. There had always been that distance Aziraphale hadn’t let her cross. But now the wall had tumbled down and there was no mystery anymore. It was only Aziraphale.

I love him, Crowley thought, and Aziraphale kissed him as if he had heard the words. 

“Tempt me,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley nodded. Anything for Aziraphale. Tempting him had always been both a fantasy and something Crowley had vowed herself she would never, ever do. But now, being asked to do it, it had become a gift she could give. A little wedge that might help prolong the moment of openness, if it was only a passing moment like Aziraphale had said. 

Anything for Aziraphale. 

There was a lovely irony to it. This whole month they had been playing humans, and in the end they had come closer to revealing their true forms than ever since the garden. The vision of Aziraphale with his wings spread in the clearing was still fresh in Crowley’s mind. His Heavenly wrath had marked Crowley with a scar. There was a tempting symmetry in marking Aziraphale in return. Crowley could let her fangs manifest and bite into his skin. But she would not do it. Aziraphale’s beautiful skin with the marks around its curves was perfect as it was, and Crowley could not tarnish it with violence.

“Are you sure about this?” Crowley asked one more time. Aziraphale nodded, sincere and solemn. “What do you want me to do?”

“Everything,” Aziraphale said. “Anything.”

Crowley hummed as a response. There was a dizzying sense of responsibility to a blanket permission like that. Aziraphale, the perfect angel who he always was, was really laying himself in the hands of a demon, and Crowley had never in her long existence been so honoured. 

Still, Crowley was hesitant to begin. All the momentum they had gained earlier had been washed away with Aziraphale’s tears. How to start from scratch? Earlier it had been desperation that had guided her. Now she had Aziraphale’s explicit permission to do whatever she wanted with him. It shouldn’t have been a more difficult place to begin, and yet somehow it was. 

But Aziraphale was looking at her expectantly, with that irresistible openness in his eyes. With it there was trust. 

The gravity of the situation finally dawned on Crowley. She had  _ permission. _ She had an invitation to indulge Aziraphale, to meet his every need and serve his every whim. 

Aziraphale was inviting her in. 

Crowley swallowed and looked solemnly back at Aziraphale’s eyes. She slowly nodded. They were doing this. 

She leaned in to kiss Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s responding gasp was a small and nervous thing. Were the fears creeping back in already? No, not yet. Not if Crowley could help it. And so, as gently as she could, Crowley let a temptation flow into the kiss. 

Aziraphale pulled back and laughed. “Burns.”

“Does it?”

“Only a little. Give me more.”

Crowley smiled and returned to the kiss. A temptation was like any miracle – a wish to see the world in a way it currently wasn’t. And how easy it was to let this miracle work it’s way through the world. Crowley had always wished for Aziraphale to give in. All she had to do now was to give that thought the edge of a miracle. It wasn’t even about sex, not for the most part. It was just a little demonic influence to cut the edge of Aziraphale’s self-consciousness. 

As they kissed, Aziraphale began to relax. He held Crowley loosely from her waist, pulling her closer. The quiet little hums he made grew more relaxed as well.  _ Let go,  _ said Crowley’s temptation.  _ Live with me. _

There was some resistance to it too, though. Crowley lowered Aziraphale down on the bed, and as she parted from the kiss, Aziraphale’s eyes flew open, laced with that steel-like worry from before. Crowley kissed his eyes closed and lowered herself over him. She whispered a murmur of reassurance in his ear, and let the temptation lace her voice as well. 

“Shhh, angel. It’s alright. Let me take care of you. It will feel so good, I promise,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley carried on, tracing her fingertips over Aziraphale’s skin. “All you have to do is to focus on my touch. How does it feel if I scrape your skin just a little?”

“Good,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley eased from the temptation. She wanted to have Aziraphale here with her. There was no need to overdo the influence.

“That’s good, angel. I’m so happy to hear,” Crowley murmured and traced her hand over Aziraphale’s chest. “But if it doesn’t feel good, that’s okay too. Then all you’ll have to do is to tell me, and I’ll be happy to do something else. All I want is for you to enjoy yourself. Do you hear me, angel?”

“Yes.”

Crowley rewarded Aziraphale with a kiss. “That’s good. You’re doing so good, Aziraphale. You are a delight to watch and to touch,” Crowley kissed her way down Aziraphale’s chest, heading lower to reach his thighs. “All I want is to touch you, all day and all night. You know that, right? I will, if you’ll let me.” 

Aziraphale whimpered at that and Crowley could have purred. Nothing had ever compared to this. Not even her wildest dreams. 

Aziraphale was languid now that Crowley’s temptation had found its way in. He had asked for this, Crowley reminded herself. But the sight of his tears was still fresh in her mind. 

“All good?” Crowley asked. 

“Yes. More,” Aziraphale said, his eyes closed and his voice heady.

“You sure?”

“I like it. Feels fuzzy.”

“Good.” More, then. 

Crowley sat up between Aziraphale’s legs and stroked her hands over his thighs. The temptation flowed from the touch. Just a little more. Just enough to cut the edge. Crowley watched closely to see how Aziraphale reacted. His mouth opened and he gasped, breathing growing heavier again. Crowley let her hands roam with purposeful motions, teasing Aziraphale, getting ever so slightly closer to his crotch.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale whispered. “I want…”

“Tell me.”

“Touch me. Please.”

Crowley did. With delicate fingers she touched Aziraphale, and watched his reactions intently. Every moan and every movement was a gift. Every sound also drew Crowley closer in, and soon it was hard to stay quite so detached from the situation. Crowley tried. She wanted to give this moment for Aziraphale and not get lost in her own pleasure while at it. But it was no use. Little by little, Crowley leaned closer to Aziraphale, until she finally let go of watching his face, and instead buried her face in between Aziraphale’s legs. She pushed her fingers inside him at the same time and was rewarded with the bucking of Aziraphale’s hips. Long, languid licks and quick, small motions one after the other threw Aziraphale in a spiral of moans. Crowley pressed her own hips down on the bed to seek friction. She timed the beckoning motion of her fingers to the rhythm of her own hips and was soon getting lost in the pleasure together with Aziraphale. Aziraphale’s hands found her hair and Crowley moaned when his fingers dug into her scalp. The elaborate updo had long since unraveled. 

The string of Aziraphale’s moans was guiding Crowley with her work. There was still room for more, though. And so, just to be on the safe side, Crowley gave Aziraphale one long lick, purposeful enough to make herself feel deliciously like choking, and she poured one last temptation to it.  _ You are allowed to want,  _ the temptation told the world.  _ You deserve to feel good.  _

And Aziraphale’s moan in reaction to it was all Crowley had ever wanted to hear. Crowley echoed it triumphantly and was about to return to the rhythm, when Aziraphale pulled her up to a messy kiss. He pulled her close and searched for all the skin contact he could get, kissing and hugging and rutting. Crowley responded to his every move, until Aziraphale lifted his knees and bucked up his hips. 

“You sure?” she asked in one ragged breath. Aziraphale nodded and whined, too far gone for words. Crowley nodded back, kissed Aziraphale as a confirmation and broke from the kiss long enough to line their hips up. She held Aziraphale’s thighs and paused one last time to look at Aziraphale’s half closed eyes. What a vision he was. A vision Crowley would never in her whole existence forget. She leaned down and kissed him. And at the same time she carefully sank into him.

They laid like that for a moment, sharing their breath and their bodies, pressed together as close they could get. It was Aziraphale who began the movement again. Crowley followed his lead and wondered distantly if she had accidentally tempted herself as well. The movement was inevitable like the cycle of day and night. Neither of them were leading anymore. Neither were guiding the other. Crowley couldn’t have said no to it if she tried.

“Angel, angel, angel,” she whispered instead, over and over again. There were other words hiding just underneath, words that Crowley would not dare to say, even though she felt them throughout. “Angel…”

Crowley kissed each word to the skin of Aziraphale’s neck and let them dance over it like sparkles. 

Throughout the rhythm of their motion, the heat of Aziraphale’s skin, and their intoxicating kisses, Crowley looked at Aziraphale with wonder. Crowley’s perfect angel, who knew exactly what he liked. Aziraphale was  _ so beautiful _ like this. This is who he was meant to be. Free and light. Unburdened by Heaven’s discipline. Crowley could not topple down all of Heaven, but she could grant this one day of freedom for Aziraphale. She kissed him fiercely and let an edge of that possessiveness guide the movement of her body too. 

Words were burning on Crowley’s tongue, but it wasn’t the right time for them. Maybe tomorrow, when the world wasn’t this urgent, she could share them. Aziraphale had stored a lock of her hair away. Crowley could tell him what her feelings were, in return. They could talk about it all tomorrow. 

“Angel,” was all Crowley said now. 

And when the pleasure expanded and toppled over the boundaries of their individual beings, Aziraphale laughed. The laughter fought its way out of him, choked and undeniably joyful, but so full of emotion that it resembled a sob. It was laughter of freedom and celebration. He was free, with no Heaven in his head. There were only the two of them. The past, the future, none of it mattered in this borrowed lightness. In this borrowed time Crowley had gifted him, there was only the present moment. 

For this one day, Aziraphale was free. 

* * *

It had been a beautiful spring day. Nothing extraordinary about it. It was just a regular, beautiful spring day among many. But during this specific spring day all of the remaining snow in Klondike melted at one go. The melt waters rushed down the Klondike River and toppled over canoes. Once the water reached the Yukon River, its mass was enough to cause riverboats to crash to the shores. 

The event went down in history as the Great Spring Flood of 1897, and it had all the ingredients for a real catastrophe. But somehow, quite miraculously, there were no victims at all. Instead the day was full of miraculous rescues. There was always just the right kind of driftwood floating past so that people got carried safely away from the currents. Lost equipment washed to the shore after them, and the sands of the river were glimmering with gold where there previously had been none. 

It wasn’t only the miraculous rescues, either. Other inexplicable events filled the day as well. Items long lost appeared to places they had apparently been all along. Prospectors found supplies from their rucksacks that they thought had long since ran out. The church of Dawson City got crowded with new couples who had realised their love at the same moment and felt there was no time to waste. Wedding rings ran out from the jewellery shop, and nuggets of gold were traded as symbols of eternal devotion instead. And all the while a cacophony of bird song filled the air and the flowers of the summer began to bloom. 

The peculiar and beautiful spring day passed like any other, while two not-quite-human beings tried to make it last forever. But the sun did set, like every day. Slowly it descended behind the mountains that marked the borders of a remote valley, and a cabin in the center of it dipped into shadows. Sunlight lingered for a while longer on the mountain tops, but inevitably even that glow faded. A crescent moon adorned the sky alone before it too followed the sun and disappeared. 

In the darkness of the cabin the two beings laid awake. Their day had been made of revelations and of motion. And as the night came, also came a sense of serenity. There was no room for urgency anymore. Only quiet and calm remained.

In the dark there was also room for words. It was easier to talk in the dark.

“I can’t believe I tempted you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Yeah, yeah. You liked it, though?”

“You couldn’t tell?”

“Come on. Just say it.”

“Yes, I liked it very much.”

Fabric rustled, and a deep breath was taken, then released as a content sigh. Outside, the darkness deepened as the sunset faded from the sky. On any other day, a campfire would have been lit by now. Two beings would have sat outside the cabin, trading stories gathered over the centuries. Tonight, maybe a candle could have been lit instead. But it would have required snapping one’s fingers. And those fingers were busy tracing the other one’s skin and learning the texture of their hair. Or simply resting, curled around an arm, or a hip. Holding each other.

But as the darkness deepened, a sigh that filled the silence was not as content anymore. It carried an ancient sadness to it. 

“What is it?”

“It’s just… it’s all starting to catch up to me.”

“Should I tempt you again?”

A soft laugher cut in between the quiet words.

”No, best not. And I… I knew all along it wouldn’t last.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, Aziraphale, tell me.”

“Oh, you know. What I said earlier. I wasn’t… really myself today.” 

“Hmm.”

Somewhere outside a cabin an animal called, a long and lonely whine that echoed from the hills.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When you said you weren’t yourself… you still wanted this?”

“Oh goodness. I wanted it all.” 

“Then what?”

“You know how it is. I can’t… I can’t want it.” 

“I can help you with that.”

“Mmm. Maybe.”

Words were quiet and mumbled. Sleep was hiding just around a corner, ready to mark the end of the long day. The two beings fought against it the best they could. They didn’t need the sleep, after all. But the solace of their embrace was an irresistible lullaby.

“Angel?”

“Go to sleep, dear.”

“But I have questions.”

“Let’s hear them tomorrow.” 

“Mmm. Okay.”

Silence won over the mumbled conversation. The sound of their synchronised breathing, fingers gently combing through the hair of one’s sleeping love, and content little hums every now and then were the only sounds that remained.

Outside, the darkness was already tilting towards the dawn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _When two lovers meet in Mayfair, so the legends tell_  
>  _Songbirds sing and winter turns to spring…_  
>  \- Vera Lynn, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the real world makes a return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the first part of the series. 
> 
> CW: victim blaming (more specifically: not understanding that a person in an abusive situation cannot be expected to overcome their fears overnight), anxiety, negative self talk, unconstructive arguing.
> 
> I also want to mention that I Am Sorry and that they will both understand each other eventually.

Aziraphale laid awake and watched Crowley’s hair slowly regain its colour in the dim light of the approaching dawn. He felt happy. It was a shame it had to end.

Being together with Crowley could be just like this. It would be lazy and indulgent days in bed, and cozy evenings spent sharing stories and bottles of wine. It would be all Aziraphale had ever wanted. It would feel like actually having a home. 

And it would mean always,  _ always  _ being scared. Being with Crowley would mean secrecy and lies, and covering their tracks at every turn. It would mean always being afraid of getting caught. It would mean eventually, ultimately and unavoidably getting caught, and punished with eternal torment. 

The clarity Aziraphale had had earlier had long since began to fade, together with Crowley’s temptation. Throughout the evening he had seen the world as if with a double vision, switching back and forth between the receding clarity and his regular, fearful existence. But it was hard to reach the clarity anymore. It had slipped away like a mirage. 

And with it, the love he knew he had for Crowley got tarnished as well. 

Heaven’s disapproving eyes burned at Aziraphale’s neck. His breathing grew shallow and eyes glanced around the quiet cabin, going to the door and to the windows. What if they were already here? The door could open any second, and there was no way, no way Aziraphale could talk himself out of this. Not by lying, and especially not by telling the truth. Nothing would  _ ever  _ excuse a demon in his bed.

Aziraphale inhaled in the scent of Crowley’s hair and tried to time his own breaths to her peaceful breathing. That’s what Crowley had guided him to do: focus on his breathing. And what had she said just today? Heaven hadn’t checked on him for ages. It was unlikely that they would suddenly come here now. 

But not impossible. 

No amount of timed breathing was settling his fears this time. Aziraphale got carefully out of the bed and went to the window. The valley was exactly as peaceful as it had always been, now painted in the pale blue tones of the hours before sunrise. He went to the door, opened it ajar and listened carefully. Birds of the spring were beginning their early morning song. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And yet there was an oppressive presence looming over the landscape, clouding every shadow with threats. 

Aziraphale picked a shovel from outside of the cabin, closed the door and jammed it shut with it. It would not help anything, he knew it. Then he carefully climbed back to bed and cradled sleeping Crowley back to his arms. She mumbled appreciatively and buried her nose to Aziraphale’s chest. There were still smudges of makeup around her eyes. 

Aziraphale tried to find that sense of happiness again, but it had already been chased away. Instead he watched as another emotion gained momentum, like a storm cloud building mass in the horizon. A heavy blanket of sorrow slowly settled over him. He didn’t try to fight it. He knew it had come to stay. 

Crowley had become a formidable force of nature in his life. She was the only thing that could lure him out of his safe and familiar trajectory into dangerous endeavours like this. Crowley was reckless enough to defy both Hell and Heaven to get what she wanted, and somehow what she wanted was Aziraphale. It had turned Aziraphale’s world upside down. In a perfect world, Aziraphale would stay beside Crowley forever, just like they both wanted. 

But this world was not perfect. Far from it. And because Crowley did not have the common sense to do the right thing, it meant that Aziraphale had to choose for both of them. He would have to do the coward’s choice. It would not be glamorous, it would not be thankful, but it was the right thing to do. It would keep them both safe. 

In a way, it wasn’t even a decision. It was simply what the gravity of their situation guided him to do. And the situation wrapped around them both like iron, unbending and suffocating. 

It was for the best. Crowley would understand.

Crowley  _ had to  _ understand. 

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut when the tears came again. He worked very hard to school the sobbing from shaking his body, to not wake up Crowley. His tight ribcage struggled to keep his breathing even, and heavy tears kept on falling. 

* * *

The pillow was slightly damp when Crowley woke up. It made her smile. Maybe she had drooled on Aziraphale too.

She stretched, not opening her eyes yet, feeling pleased like a cat after a good nap. Aziraphale was not beside her, but the scent of freshly made coffee filled the cabin. He was making breakfast.

Crowley kept her eyes closed and probed how the morning felt like. It felt extraordinary. Something in the world had been nudged into a new position, and the old and dusty world had been left behind. A smile took over her face when she recalled all that had happened yesterday. She had Aziraphale. She  _ finally _ had him. After centuries and centuries of futile dreaming, Crowley had finally gotten what she wanted. And this was their first morning together, in the perfect world they now shared. Finally, finally, finally. She smiled in the pillow so wide her cheeks ached.

Today was also the day Crowley would tell Aziraphale about her feelings. Today there was no urgency, like yesterday. No exhaustion, like last night. Today was a new world, and it was theirs. And in this new world Crowley could tell Aziraphale that she loved him.  _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ Crowley repeated the words in her head to try them out.  _ I love you, _ she mouthed the words silently into the pillow. The words made her skin tingle like in a warm summer rain. 

The last tendrils of sleep still lingered on her. Crowley stretched again, this time making a pleased sound too. Her corporation was sore in an excellent way. All that lacked was a certain celestial being who to share the morning with. 

“Angel,” she called, with a smile in her voice. “Come back to bed.”

“Erm. Morning, Crowley. You should come drink your coffee while it's still hot.”

Crowley froze in the middle of her stretch and a shiver of dread ran through her. She opened her eyes and took in the room. 

Aziraphale was fully dressed. He was preparing breakfast by the stove with nervous movements. He glanced at Crowley’s direction and turned quickly away.

All of Crowley’s possessions, mostly beauty products which she had miracled from Saloon Fortuna one by one, were lined up neatly on the table. On the stool was Aziraphale’s rucksack, empty, waiting to be packed, and next to it was her dress, freshened up and neatly folded. Crowley’s high heeled shoes were waiting on the floor. 

Crowley had fallen asleep, and Aziraphale… Aziraphale had slipped away. 

“No,” Crowley said. The word was merely a gasp.

Aziraphale didn’t respond or stop his puttering over the stove. He didn’t even turn to look. 

“Why?” Crowley tried again. 

“You know why,” Aziraphale said. His voice was carefully even. It didn’t sound like the Aziraphale Crowley knew.

“I don’t. What is going on?” Crowley asked. She did not want to beg. Surely Aziraphale understood better than to make her beg. 

What had gone so wrong?

Aziraphale finally turned away from the stove, walked to the table with the coffee pot and poured two cups of coffee. He then held one of them to Crowley’s direction but barely glanced at her. “Your coffee.”

Crowley didn’t take the cup. “Come here, angel. Talk to me.” 

Aziraphale continued to hold the coffee cup, avoiding Crowley’s gaze, and shook his head.

Crowley got gingerly up from the bed. She took her dress from the stool and slipped it on, her mind reeling trying to figure out what had gotten into Aziraphale. But she had dealt with his moods before. Each time it had been an honour, and she would be happy to do it again. 

Crowley took the cup from Aziraphale’s hands and placed it on the table. It met the wooden surface with a soft click. With the coffee out of the way, she reached out her arms. 

Aziraphale flinched and backed away before she had touched him. “No, don’t –”

Crowley instantly dropped her arms. It wasn’t dread anymore that filled her. It was terror instead. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale shrunk. “Nothing. But you must stop asking questions. It’s safer that way.” 

“Asking questions made me who I  _ am, _ Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sharper now. The terror was an alien sensation. It twisted and turned, trying to find a way out. “Tell me. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, Crowley, you did  _ nothing _ wrong. But you  _ know  _ how it is,” Aziraphale said and shifted uncomfortably on his feet now that he wasn’t occupied with making breakfast anymore. Crowley followed Aziraphale’s every move carefully. He was trying to minimise himself, hide himself from her stare. He was visibly ashamed. But ashamed of what, Crowley could not tell, because Aziraphale had once again locked himself far away from her. One day of openness. Had that really been all she got? 

“Aziraphale. Just tell me what’s wrong,” Crowley said and could hear the pleading tone in her voice. Hearing it made the terror twist sickly in her stomach. And finally, finally Aziraphale reacted. 

“What’s wrong? What’s always been wrong!” Aziraphale snapped, and continued with a strangled tone. “And always will be. You are… you are a demon. I’m an angel. You know what it means. We can’t… this can’t...” And there was Aziraphale, finally looking at Crowley. It was a scared look, one of an animal trapped in a cage. And Crowley knew, oh how she knew that Aziraphale was terrified. But it did nothing to soften the punch.

Yesterday had changed nothing.

Crowley stared at Aziraphale as long as he dared to hold her gaze. Once he dropped it, Crowley turned away and began shoving her possessions into the rucksack.

“Coffee?” Aziraphale offered again, faltering between trying to stay out of Crowley’s way and reaching for the coffee cup.

“No,” Crowley said. She packed the rucksack without seeing what she was doing. Fragmented thoughts ran in circles in her head. _Angel, demon._ Back at that bullshit, were they? But Aziraphale had been _right there_ just yesterday. Yes, he had said the fears would come back, but _this?_ Did he regret asking Crowley to tempt him? Did he feel like he was _tainted_ by it? But he had asked her to, and she was not going to apologise for doing as she was asked –

Crowley halted to a stop, pressing the sharp spikes of her comb into her palm. The terror had twisted into anger. It coiled inside her, irresistible and tempting. But Aziraphale was  _ scared,  _ and anger would solve nothing. Aziraphale needed patience. Crowley had been able to calm Aziraphale before. She could solve this one too.  _ They _ could solve this. 

“Angel,” Crowley said and willed the anger away from her voice. She spoke softly. “Are you alright?”

She heard a small gasp and looked over to Aziraphale to see a painful expression before he hid it away. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and even attempted to smile. It faltered as soon as he tried it on. “No. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Crowley said. She straightened up and took a tentative step towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale had backed away earlier, but maybe he just needed to be convinced. Nudged to the right direction, like so often before. There was a risk of being rejected, but how likely was it, after how much they had shared yesterday? 

Crowley held out a hand, and with it all of her hopes as well. 

_ Just let me help, angel.  _

_ Just let me back in. _

The outstretched hand waited, palm up. An offering for Aziraphale to take. 

Aziraphale took a step back. “I’m sure it does,” he said and flashed a polite smile. 

Crowley’s hand fell as if it had been slapped away. That politeness in Aziraphale’s smile belonged to a different time. Aziraphale had really reverted back to their old ways, as if nothing had happened. As if Aziraphale hadn’t laid himself bare in front of Crowley. As if Crowley hadn’t done the same.

It hurt Crowley more than she could put to words. 

“Are you showing me out? This is it?” Crowley said and finally said what had been obvious from the start. 

“It’s for the best," Aziraphale said with a small voice from the corner he had backed himself into.

“For the best," Crowley repeated. She reached to grab the rucksack from the stool and held it tightly to her chest, like it would shield her from the rejection. It was too late.

“Your demon friends will start wondering soon…”

“I told you, they – you know what, fine,” Crowley said and felt something giving up inside her. “You’re right. You’re always right." 

Silence filled a cabin. It was a dreadful silence that held no notions of the companionship they had shared during the month. It made Crowley ache with all the warmth that it lacked.

“You should come visit the saloon sometime," Crowley suggested. She heard the hopeful tone in her own voice and bristled.

Aziraphale avoided her gaze. “I... probably won't.”

“Fine.”

The silence dragged on again. Aziraphale didn’t attempt to fill it with more explanations. He was not looking at Crowley. He didn’t even dare to show her out of the cabin like he clearly wanted to do. Whatever mysterious strength had gotten him to tear down his defences yesterday had completely abandoned him now. Aziraphale looked small, scared, alone, and he did not allow anyone to reach him. Not even Crowley. Not even after everything they had gone through. 

The cabin felt suddenly too small for both of them. Crowley didn’t wait for Aziraphale to show her out, and instead marched right out of the door herself. She flung the rucksack to her shoulder, grabbed her fur coat by the door and burst into the crisp morning air of the spring. She walked a couple of steps from the cabin before stopping again. The piercing blue sky mocked her with its beauty, sunrise painting wispy clouds pastel pink. 

Patience, that’s what she needed. And maybe some space. Aziraphale probably just needed some space too. They could still solve this. They had to. Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to face the cabin again. Aziraphale had come to the door.

“Angel,” she said, simply, as her last plea. It prompted no reaction from Aziraphale. Crowley forced more words out of her tight throat. “Is this it? After the month we shared, is this it?”

Aziraphale stood by the door. He looked stiff and pained, tugging the hem of his rugged shirt. 

Please, Crowley thought. She did not say it. The word was heavy on her tongue. She was choking on it.

_ Please, Aziraphale. Don’t do this to us.  _

“Actually, there is one formality,” Aziraphale said and disappeared briefly into the cottage. He returned with a small leather pouch. “Here’s your share of the gold we dug. It’s what you’ve rightfully earned, by… working here, for one month.” He reached out his hand to pass the pouch to Crowley.

It wasn’t what Crowley had meant and she knew Aziraphale knew it too. Crowley took the pouch anyway and let her fingers linger on Aziraphale’s while taking it. It was the only touch they had shared that morning. Aziraphale froze for a moment before quickly retracting his hand. 

The pouch was lighter than it should have been, in Crowley’s opinion. Some part of her foggy head wondered if this really was how little contracted miners earned in a month. And they came and poured their earnings into her saloon anyway? She opened the pouch and emptied its contents to her palm to examine the small pile of gold. 

“I assure you, it’s the right amount," Aziraphale said.

“I don’t doubt it," Crowley replied distantly. 

“I… hope you have learned your lesson, then.”

Crowley tensed. A lesson. Was it to learn the true value of human work? That was why Aziraphale had dragged her here in the first place, wasn’t it? An excuse thin as ice on a puddle on a frosty morning, and Aziraphale still dared to hold on to it. How thin did Aziraphale expect his excuses to stretch before something really broke?

Patience. Aziraphale needed her to be patient. And she wanted to be, for Aziraphale. Anything for Aziraphale.

Crowley had tried to get Aziraphale let go of his excuses for the whole month. Slowly chipping into Aziraphale’s doubts one by one, conversation by conversation, in the hopes of Aziraphale cracking open and letting Crowley see all of him. Yesterday she had thought she had succeeded. But Aziraphale had bounced right back, as if he had never listened to a word Crowley had said. 

Patience. They could still solve this. They  _ had to  _ solve this.

There had been good moments. There had been  _ excellent  _ moments. And Crowley had hoped that Aziraphale had begun to see the world like she saw it. But she had been wrong. Whatever anomaly yesterday had been, Aziraphale had doubled down now. Speaking like Heaven and treating Crowley like an acquaintance. 

Crowley took a deep breath and noticed she was shaking. Patience...

Like an  _ acquaintance.  _

Crowley hurled the pile of gold at Aziraphale’s face. She hoped the heavy nuggets hit his eyes. She hoped it hurt. 

“How dare you?” Crowley shouted. “I don’t want your gold. I  _ never _ cared for the gold.” 

“Did you think you could buy your conscience clean?” Crowley continued. She was fuming. Words spilled out of her and she wanted them to hurt Aziraphale too. Maybe they would finally shake Aziraphale out of it. “Did you think you could still pretend I was here to work for you?”

“You  _ wish. _ You chose to drag me here and you know why you did it,” Crowley kept on going. Aziraphale looked at her with fear in his eyes, but she didn’t falter. If Aziraphale cared about her at all, he would have to finally say it. “But it’s over, angel. No more games. You’ll either have me or not have me, but no more of this, this, this  _ travesty.” _

Words were hard to get out. They raked through Crowley’s throat and broke her voice, but she continued. “I’m done pretending, Aziraphale! And I can’t, I just can’t stand it, seeing you do this. Just... Come find me when you’ve stopped pretending too.”

Crowley turned on her heels and was marching away before she could change her mind. She walked with her head high and broad shoulders squared. 

At any moment now Aziraphale would call after her. He would call her silly title in that theatrical voice that wasn't quite his own, and prevent her escape like before. Or even better, he would call Crowley's name without the distance of their play pretend. He would call out to her, and it would not be because of the stupid game she had insisted on playing at the beginning of the month, but because he wanted Crowley to stay. Because he was done with pretending too.

At any moment now, Crowley would hear Aziraphale's footsteps approaching her, a nervous but determined rhythm on the dirt. She would quicken her own steps, but not too much. 

At any moment now, there would be a gentle touch on her shoulder. Crowley would stop but not turn around. She would not dare. Aziraphale would inevitably come around to face her, and then he would see the heavy tears streaming down Crowley’s cheeks, painting streaks with yesterday's makeup. Aziraphale would see and he would know how much Crowley cared.

Any moment now.

The glacier loomed in front of Crowley. Its ridge grew higher and higher with every regretful step she took closer to the cave. Ageless cold radiated from the wall of ice and the first rays of morning sun lit it with the shades of gold. 

Any moment... 

No call cut through the valley. No footsteps followed Crowley, nor was there a touch of a warm hand on her shoulder. Only silence, birdsong and the very last cold gale of the winter accompanied her on her way out of the valley. 

Crowley reached the pathway in the glacier, and without looking back, she left White Agony Creek behind her for good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you again in a week, when I will post the next part of the series in its entirety: Cold Hearts of Dawson. To make sure you don’t miss it, consider subscribing to the series!
> 
> If you want to, you check out my fanart from [insta](https://www.instagram.com/lunar.system.art/) or holla at me on [tumblr](https://lunar-system.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> My biggest thanks for every single one of you who has given this wild ride of a story a go <3


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